


A Duty To Fulfill

by MissReylo



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Awesome Sarah Rogers, Bisexuality, Depression, Dream Kissing, Evil Alexander Pierce, F/F, F/M, Feminist Steve Rogers, Feminist Themes, Gardens & Gardening, Hydra (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Marriage of Convenience, Mentions of Suicide, Mild Smut, Minor Bucky Barnes/Sam Wilson, Minor Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Miscarriage, Nightmares, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Stark!Reader, Steve Rogers Is A Gentleman, Talking About Trauma, Violence, War, bisexual!reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2020-02-26 14:16:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 108,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18718738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissReylo/pseuds/MissReylo
Summary: You're the daughter of Howard and Maria Stark and the younger sister of Tony. When your parents are murdered on your birthday ball, you're left traumatized. Then, an opportunity presents itself to keep the kingdom safe from HYDRA. You're more than willing to take it, even if that means getting married to a man you've never met before. (Royal AU, Marriage of Convenience)





	1. Chapter 1

You're woken up by the sound of knocking on the door of your chambers. It's morning already, the curtains are open and the sunshine makes you close your eyes again. The sun shouldn't shine today. It shouldn't shine anymore. It should rain, forever. With lots of thunder. And dark clouds. You bury yourself under the blankets, hoping whoever it is will go away.

"Y/N?"

It's Pepper. You groan. You love her, God knows you would die for her, but you can't handle her right now. The blonde princess - soon to be Queen - of the Stark Kingdom, your brother's wife, your close friend, knocks again.

"Y/N? I've brought breakfast with me."

And if that isn't the most Pepper like thing, you don't know what is. She's going to be the most important woman in this country tonight and she's standing outside of your bedroom, carrying breakfast like she's an ordinary maid. You climb out of your bed and open the door for her.

"Can I come in?" she asks, holding up the tray. You nod.

She looks at you. The worry in her eyes is obvious. You know you look like a mess, you haven't brushed your hair in days or taken a bath. It all just seems so _pointless_.

You close the door behind Pepper. The two of you go to sit on the balcony. Pepper looks flawless, her hair is in an elaborate hairdo and she's wearing heavy makeup. Tonight your mother's crown will be placed on her head. It stings, not because you think Pepper will be a horrible Queen - she's going to be amazing - but your mother should have worn it at least five more years.

Pepper notices your staring. "Everything all right?"

"Mmh."

"Y/N, you're coming tonight, right?"

"Am I allowed not to come?"

She sighs. "Well, if you're really not feeling up to it... I'm sure Tony could come up with an excuse for your absence. But it won't look good."

You're not dumb. You know that. The Stark Princess not attending the coronation... it'll come across as if you don't support your brother. It's not that. You've had Tony's back your entire life (just like he's had yours) but you don't know if you'll be able to handle the big crowd. You're scared of what will happen, sitting there. You're scared of the memories that will come back. They haunt you in this room enough already and you just know that if you go back to where  _it_ happened, it won't be good. Everything there holds memories of that night. 

"I'll try to be there."

"What dress will you wear?" Pepper asks, pouring you a cup of tea.

"I..." You hadn't even thought of the dress. The last two months you've worn your mourning dress whenever you had to appear in public. It's a nice black dress that accentuates your curves and most importantly, it comes with a veil. A veil to hide your face behind, a veil to make it easy for you to cry unnoticed. But you can't wear a mourning dress for your brother's coronation.

You look at Pepper's dress, a form-fitting lilac one with lace at the end of her sleeves. It's not a very big one, but that's never been Pepper's style. It's still fancy enough, just looking at the neckline you can see the care (and money) that was put into the dress. Mentally you go through your closet, looking for a dress that will look nice enough but won't outshine the one Pepper is wearing. Your mind immediately goes to the blue one, the one you wore to your birthday ball. But it's stained with blood, your parents' blood.

You press your fingers to your lips, holding back a sob.

"Oh, Y/N," Pepper says. "It's fine, don't even worry about it... I'll take care of it, I promise you. You can borrow one of mine or I'll... I'll find one, it doesn't matter."

You don't say anything, taking your cup of tea and taking a sip.

* * *

In the afternoon, your maids force you to take a bath. The eldest of them, Petra, is washing your hair, while the other two sit around the bath, talking to each other. You close your eyes, listening to their chatter about who's going to marry who. It almost feels normal. Before your parents were brutally murdered you got up to all kind of mischief with these women. All three of them love to gossip and while you would never admit it, you did too. As a princess, you're not really allowed to go anywhere, so the three were your only source of the outside world.

Everything changed after the ball. At least the following month, they didn't say anything to you. You were barely functioning and they realized that you weren't in the mood for conversations about the new scandal involving a pre-marital pregnancy. The baths had been a bit uncomfortable, everybody just sitting there in silence, but not anymore now.

Lola stands up.

You open your eyes. "What?"

"I thought I heard someone in the next room." She whispers.

Kira stops talking and Petra quickly washes her soapy hands in the bowl with water next to her.

"I'll check it out," Petra says reassuringly. "Maybe it was just the wind."

Probably, but you're on edge. You always thought you were safe. Sure, you knew the Stark kingdom had its enemies, you had gone to a lot of funerals for soldiers who had died in the war against HYDRA but you had always been surrounded by guards and maids. You were probably one of the safest women in the entire kingdom. But all those guards and maids hadn't made a damn difference against those HYDRA men two months ago.

"Give me my dagger," you order Kira. She hurries over to the sink where you had put it. Your prized possession, a gift from Natasha. Slowly you rise from the bathtub, fully naked. Kira and Lola avert their eyes and instead focus on Petra, who is slowly pushing the door to the bedroom open. You look at your hand that's holding the dagger, it's shaking badly.

"Who is it?" you hiss.

Petra turns around, obviously relieved. "It's Lady Romanov."

Natasha appears in the door opening, not even slightly fazed by your nakedness. "Pepper asked me to bring you a dress she found for you. I didn't want to disturb you, taking your bath. Although, you are a sight for sore eyes, Y/N."

You roll your eyes at the red-haired woman.

You've known Natasha your entire life. She's the daughter of some high Lord who died a long time ago. Her appearance can be quite deceiving, she's tiny and skinny, but you know she could easily knock out three soldiers. She's a highly skilled spy who has done a lot of good for the Stark Kingdom. She's always been quite mysterious and maybe that's what attracted you to her. She's nothing like the other ladies in the palace, who mostly obsess about who they will marry. No, Natasha's quite manly and tells the best stories about what adventures she's been on. But never about her childhood.

"Thank you, Tasha. And thank Pepper for me."

"Will do," she says. "See you tonight. Save a dance for me."

She turns around, swaying her hips deliberately like she does a lot around you.

It's no secret that Natasha likes you and that you like her. A few years ago, you would have let her court you, kiss you, make love to you. You wouldn't object to a kiss from her now, but you're not marrying her. The flirting between the two of you nowadays is more of a game, a game that you used to enjoy greatly. Even on the night that your parents died, she was flirting with you, holding you close to her and whispering some scandalous things in your ear. You had seen your mother, shaking her head. She didn't approve of Natasha. Well, it was more that she didn't approve of you being with a woman. Your father ignored your attraction to both genders, your brother Tony joked about it every chance he got.

You sit down in the bathtub again, shivering. Kira takes your dagger away and you groan. Petra sits down behind you, slowly pushing you under the water to wash away the shampoo out of your hair. When you come up, Kira and Lola are giggling about Lord Stan who apparently was caught with his mistress.

* * *

The sun is setting and the coronation is getting closer and closer. You've looked at yourself in the mirror at least a hundred times and each time you're shocked at how normal you look. You look good, your cheeks are flushed, your hair is done nicely and the dress that Pepper chose for you looks fantastic. A part of you wants you to look like a mess. You should be screaming, you should be crying, your parents are dead, your parents were _murdered,_ you shouldn't look pretty. You don't want people to admire you, to talk about your accessories. You just want your parents back. You're allowed to look normal when everything is normal again.

You go and find your brother. Tony's hiding out in your father's study. When you open the door you see him standing in front of the window, looking at the people in the courtyard.

"Tony," you whisper.

He turns around. He looks good. He wears dad's clothing and his hair has been combed. He smiles gently at you. "You're here."

"I'm here," you reassure him. "I'm here, Tony."

He walks over to you, softly cupping your cheek. "I wouldn't have blamed you if you had stayed in bed, just so you know. I could never blame you."

"I'm here to support you, silly. We need to have each other's back."

The unspoken words linger in the air. _They would have wanted that._

"Come here," he says and he pulls you in a hug. Tears fill your eyes. You haven't spoken to him since the ball. You can faintly remember him checking in on you in week two, standing over your bed, telling the doctor something. But that's all. He had given you all the space you had needed and for that, you were eternally grateful.

"You're going to be an amazing king," you whisper to him.

"I'll certainly do my best."

You smile through your tears. "Dad would be so proud of you. And mom."

"They would be proud of you too." Tony pulls away from you. "I'm so glad you're getting better. I thought I was going to lose you too."

His words are like a punch to the gut. Suddenly you realize that you're not the only one mourning them. While you were wasting away in your chambers, Tony was forced to face the burden of the throne. Alone. And he too had been haunted by the images of your father being beheaded and your mother being stabbed multiple times as she screamed. How could you have been so selfish to not realize that earlier?

"I'm sorry," you said softly. "I'm so...so sorry."

Tony presses a kiss on your forehead. "I forgive you, all right?" He lets you go again and walks over to the desk, collecting some papers that look like letters and locking them away. "Y/N?"

"Yes?"

"You and Romanov. I've always teased you two, but if you want to get married to her, you have my blessing. Father and mother... probably wouldn't have allowed it... but I would. Just so you know."

You smile warmly at him. "Thank you." Then, slightly confused: "Why suddenly this talk about marriage?"

"Well, you are the right age... I don't know. It doesn't matter. Let's go, we don't want to be late."

* * *

Natasha sits behind you and when you sit down, she winks at you. In a corner, you spot Petra, Kira, and Lola. You can feel everybody looking at you. Some of them were there at the ball and saw you, screaming next to your mother's corpse, having to be dragged away by Natasha. You fold your hands in your lap and look straight ahead, at the two empty thrones.

Tony and Pepper enter. Both of them smile at you in different ways. Tony's smile is a warm brotherly smile. You can just sense how grateful he is that you're still there and haven't run away. Yet. Pepper smiles at you, happy that you're wearing the dress she picked. The ceremony flies by. Your mind is somewhere else. When the entire crowd stands and then bows for their King and Queen, you do too. When you stand up again you feel Natasha's hand on your shoulder.

"It's over," she whispers. "Well done."

There's food and drinks and dancing. Tony and Pepper dance the first dance. They look good, their crowns on, smiling at each other. Looking at them you look at Natasha, who's drinking champagne. Being married to her would be comfortable. You feel safe around you. She's a good kisser, you know that, and sleeping with her would certainly not be a punishment. If you _had_ to get married, yeah, you would pick her. But as long as you don't have to, you won't. Natasha catches you staring and arches her eyebrows.

After some dances with a charming Lord, you get to dance with her. You listen to music and focus on your breathing. You're starting to feel a bit panicky. Natasha notices and rubs your back. "Y/N?"

"Fine... I'm fine."

She looks skeptical but she lets it slide for now. When the dance is almost over you ask her: "Natasha, do you have the feeling Tony wants me to get married?"

She laughs. "Well if he wants you married he shouldn't have rejected all the proposals."

You stiffen in her arms. "What do you mean?"

"The proposals from Kings of neighboring countries. A lot of them are looking for a wife. Tony turned all of them down. You didn't know?"

"I didn't!"

The two of you stop dancing. You walk over to the nearest table and pick up a glass of champagne.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything," Natasha says. "Look, your father had been receiving proposals for a year or something. He turned every one of them down, wanting to give you some time to figure yourself out, to figure out who you wanted to marry. After his... death... Tony received a bunch of them and he turned them down because he saw you weren't in a good place. He cares about you and knew that promising you to some stranger wouldn't help you."

"He should have told me about them!"

"While you were in an almost comatose state in bed?"

You scowl.

"Look, there's no real need for the kingdom to get married and I don't see you wanting to get married, so just be happy you don't have to be the wife to some old guy."

"No real need?"

"... some marriages could be good for the Stark kingdom, but we can manage."

"Good? In what way?"

"A week ago we received a letter from the Kingdom of America. Steve Rogers is looking for a wife and his advisor, Phil Coulson, thinks you would be good for him. America having our back would be nice, but we don't need it."

Your eyes widen. Steve Rogers wanted to marry you? You had heard some vague stories about him, but you had never met him. "But we do need it! With HYDRA breathing down our necks our kingdom is at risk. An alliance with America would protect us."

"Y/N, Tony already sent a letter saying that you're not going to marry King Rogers."

You look at Tony, who's talking to some people, laughing loudly. That idiot. That noble idiot.

You sigh. "Steve Rogers is a good man, right?"

"I've only met him once," Natasha says. "Yes, he's nice. A man of his word."

"I can't be selfish, Natasha. I can't stay here and put everyone at risk just because I don't want to get married."

"Y/N, you have no obligation..."

"Yes, I have! I have duties to fulfill. I'm a Stark princess and I'll do what needs to be done to protect this kingdom."

You put down the glass of champagne and leave Natasha alone, walking over to Tony. You tap him on the shoulder. "We need to talk."


	2. Chapter 2

You dream of your parent's bodies. They return in your nightmares every night but you still haven't gotten used to the horrifying sight. You're in the big hall, alone with their corpses. You kneel down next to them, smelling the blood that has stained the ground underneath them.

You cry silently. "Dad... mom... please."

When you wake up everything hurts. You're still crying. You sit up in your bed, looking through the room. Kira has left one candle burning on the table next to the window and you get out of bed to get it. In the bathroom you wash your face and open the window a bit, breathing in the cold air. You sit in the windowsill, the breeze playing with your hair. Almost the whole castle is asleep. You think of Tony and Pepper in their chamber, curled up in bed next to each other. You think of your maids, in their rooms close to yours. You think of Natasha. You know her so well you know she's not sleeping. Some nights you passed her bedchamber and saw light peeking through from under the door. You never dared to ask her what she does at night. You'll never get the chance to ask her.

She's not coming with you when you travel to the Kingdom of America tomorrow. You offered her a place in America, but she declined.

"I'm sorry," she had said. "My place is here."

You would be lying if you said that didn't hurt. Natasha is a big part of your life. She's always there for you when you need her. Her advice is always good and she taught you so much. But now, everything is different. You won't be the Stark Princess anymore. You'll be the Queen of America. Steve Roger's wife. You still don't know how you feel about that. You do know how your brother, sister-in-law and Natasha feel about it. You had to argue with Tony for two days before he allowed you to write a letter with his advisor to America, explaining everything. Tony then sent Pepper to you, to talk you out of it. She listed all of the reasons why you shouldn't: The Stark Kingdom didn't really _really_ need it, they already had some other kingdoms that would back them in case HYDRA attacked again, not much was actually known about Steve Rogers, he could be a cruel man, you would be far away and if something happened to you, you had no way to contact home, your father wouldn't have wanted this, your mother wouldn't have wanted this, the Y/N she knew wouldn't have wanted this.

You understand all of that, but you can't take the risk. A marriage between the Stark Kingdom and the Kingdom of America is an incredibly strong alliance. You don't want the kingdom to have to lean on some useless countries, no, America will be able to protect everybody. After you're married to Steve you'll convince him to send a part of his army to the Stark Kingdom, just in case. You will have so much influence as the Queen of America. Sure, it isn't ideal, marrying a stranger, but you'll survive. It's better than lying in bed, fearing the next attack.

Natasha didn't try to talk you out of it. She knew there would be no use. She just hugged you and told you: "You're a fool, but a noble fool." The two of you had eaten dinner together in your chambers and she had told you everything about Steve Rogers that she knew. She drew a picture of him for you: a tall strong man with blonde-brownish hair and a beard. "He's a just ruler," she had said. "Very fair. Treats his subjects well. From what I've heard he respects women, he even has a woman as one of his generals. Her name is Wanda Maximoff, an incredible fighter. I've met her a few times and she's a nice girl. If you need help, just go to her and she'll get a message through to me."

She had looked at you and chuckled. "You two are a perfect match. Rogers is a very stubborn man and God help me, so are you."

After a few glasses of wine, you confessed something to her. "I've never slept with anyone."

She had laughed. "I knew that already."

"Would you have slept with me, had I asked?"

"No," she had said. "No, I wouldn't have had. I like you and I would have loved to, but your father warned me about getting too close to you. I would have kissed you."

"Kiss me?" you had asked, putting your wine glass down. "Please, Natasha."

She stood up, walked over to you and pressed a soft kiss on your lips. Just like the few kisses, you shared over the year it was a nice, chaste one, with the promise of more.

"Are you jealous of King Rogers?" you asked her when she pulled away.

"Of course."

"Have you ever slept with a man?" you asked her, a bit curious.

"Many times."

"Why?"

"To get something I wanted. Never forget that sex is a powerful tool to get men to do something for you."

You had swallowed, thinking about Steve Rogers. Would you have to use your body to get him to protect the Stark Kingdom?

"You do know how to sleep with a man, right?" Natasha had asked, frowning.

You had nodded. When you had first bled your mother had quickly explained everything you needed to know. The more explicit details you had learned from Petra, Kira, and Lola. They loved to tell you, the innocent little princess, about the many ways to please a man.

Now, sitting in that windowsill, you realize that just because you know _what_ to do, doesn't guarantee you will be good at it. And even if you are good at it, you have no idea how to be a good Queen. Sure, you had watched your mother rule and you had a lot of lessons because of you being a princess, but what if everything is different in America? What if you go to America and Steve realizes that you're just a girl with horrible nightmares, who has never kissed a man, who has never truly been trained to be a Queen and has no idea how to be a good wife? What if he sends you away? You know that you could always go back here, but you would hate yourself for failing.

Right now, you need your mother. You need to ask her so many questions. You need to understand how she had made a marriage with your father work. You want to know how she had made everybody love her. You want to ask her if she had been nervous when she had come here. But she's gone and you are left behind with all your questions.

You go back to your bedroom, putting the candle on the table. You have to try and sleep again. Once you and Steve share a bedroom you will never be able to get away with waking up every few hours, crying and screaming.

* * *

 The next morning you pack your bags with Petra, Kira, and Lola. They aren't coming with you. Petra's getting married soon and Kira and Lola's families live nearby. You aren't going to take them with you to a far away country. Never.

You make sure to put your dagger in one of the bags. Just in case. You pack a few keepsakes and you bring your favorite book. When you're done some guards come and take your bags to bring them to one of the carriages. You thank Petra, Kira, and Lola for how they've been there for you almost your entire life. Lola bursts into tears and hugs you. "I'm sorry, Highness, but I'll really miss you."

"I'll miss you too."

It's no lie. These girls have been there with you for so long, laughing and crying with you. Kira hugs you too, Petra just watches on with a worried look on her face. You hug her, whispering to her to not fret. "I'll be fine."

She doesn't say anything back. They leave, officially relieved of their duties towards you. You'll survive the rest of the morning without them. You look around the empty room. You won't sleep here tonight. You've been told you'll arrive in America in the middle of the night. Tony complained, saying that it wasn't good to arrive so late. There would be no big welcome, no red carpets, and bowing crowds. You're grateful. You don't need all of that.

You go and eat breakfast with Tony and Pepper.

Tony's being unusually silent. Pepper tries to make conversation, but you can't focus on what she's telling you. Finally, you put your fork down. "Tony, what's going on?"

"Nothing."

"You're sulking," you say. "Tony, I've made my decision. Stop it."

"I made our father a promise. To keep you safe. Sending you away to some King isn't keeping you safe."

"If our father had lived he would have married me off to Steve in a few years anyway."

"You don't know that."

"Our father was a smart man, he would have seen the opportunities a marriage between our two kingdoms would bring."

Tony shoots you a sharp glare. "You think I don't see the opportunities? You think I wouldn't love an alliance... God, off course I would, Y/N! But you're my little sister!"

"We're not doing this again," you say. "Please, Tony, this is my last breakfast with you, can you please just... not?"

He calms down a bit. "Of course."

Everybody's silent for a minute. You eat your sandwich, thinking about what you will eat tomorrow. Do they eat the same food in America? Will you eat in your room? Will you eat with the king? Or maybe with his confidantes? You take another bite, chewing softly. The only thing you do know is that everything is going to be different.

"You got your ink?" Tony asks. "The inks that you got for your birthday? From our mother?"

You frown. "Yes... why?"

"Listen. When you get there, after one or two days you're going to send Pepper a letter. You're going to write about how good the kingdom of America is and how handsome Steve Rogers is... whatever women talk about in letters to each other. It doesn't matter what America is like or how Rogers treats you, you're going to write that everything is all right. If they're up to something, if he hurts you, he'll read the letters you're sending here to make sure you're not writing anything bad. But we're smarter. If everything is really all right, you write in green ink. If you need help, you'll use the red ink and I'll make sure you get home."

You nod.

"Promise you'll do that. Promise me, Y/N."

"I promise."

* * *

You tear up a bit when you say goodbye to Pepper. You remember when Tony introduced her to you, how the two of you had high tea's and made fun of Tony. She holds you tightly and rubs your back.

"Be safe," she whispers. "And send the letter."

You bite your lip, feeling a bit nauseous reminded of the letter. You promised Tony, but there's a real possibility that you will be breaking that promise. You hope everything will be all right in America and you'll be able to use the green ink, but you've already told yourself that if Rogers isn't a good man, if all Natasha's good stories turn out to be not true, you'll still use the green ink. The Stark Kingdom can't use a war right now and they certainly would lose if they got into a war with America. But you know Tony too well. If you send a letter with red ink he'll fight. He's too reckless for his own good sometimes and you love and hate him for that.

Tony hugs you. "I love you."

"I love you too," you whisper, burying your face in his neck. "Don't worry too much."

"I always worry about you. That's my duty as a brother. I really do have a heart in here, after all," he jokes.

You force yourself to laugh. You want to tell him that you never doubted that, but you need to leave. You can tell the guards are getting a bit impatient. You look around. Natasha isn't here and you haven't told her goodbye.

Pepper notices. "She said she was going to be here. I've got no idea where she is."

You swallow thickly. You can't just leave without saying goodbye to Natasha. But when she's not there after another five minutes, you climb into the carriage. You're alone in the carriage and you're grateful for that. You'll need the next hours to prepare yourself and you can't do that with some lady-in-waiting chattering about nonsense. Just when one of the guards tries to close the door of the carriage you can hear Natasha yelling: "...wait, wait, WAIT!"

Before you realize it Natasha's pushed the door open, climbed into the carriage and closed the door.

"Where were you?" you almost yell.

"I'm sorry, I had to do some...things..." she answers. "Were you really going to leave without saying goodbye?"

"Maybe."

"I'm sorry that I can't come with you. But I promise I'll visit. Soon. I want to see you as a Queen. You'll look even more beautiful with a crown on your head," she says, reaching over and brushing a lock of your hair behind your ear.

You grin. "Don't flatter me too much, it'll go to my head."

"You should let it get to your head," Natasha whispers. "I need you to know that you're a smart, capable woman who's also stunning and can take on anything she wants."

"Natasha?"

"Yes?"

"Kiss me."

"Can't do that," she sighed. "You're promised to Rogers."

"You kissed me last time. I was promised to him then too!" you complain. "Please, Tasha, one last goodbye kiss?"

She sighs and rolls her eyes. "All right then." She leans over and kisses you. It's different from the other times. This time it has a tinge of bitterness and the promise of more is missing. It's painful. When she pulls back her warm breath ghosts over your lips.

"I'll miss you," Natasha admits and it's so incredibly honest you look at her in shock. She's so vulnerable in front of you.

"I'll miss you even more," you croak. "Love you, Tasha."

"Love you too. Now, go, before I change my mind and kidnap you."

You laugh as she climbs out of the carriage. The door is closed now and you look out the little window at Tony, Pepper, and Natasha. Tony nods at you. You get the message, he's proud of you. Pepper waves, Natasha just stands there, her arms next to her body. The look on her face says enough. The carriage starts moving and you wave until you can't see them anymore.

You're officially on your way to America, to meet your future husband.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the new chapter!  
> I've been figuring out where to take this story and I'm excited. I have some stuff planned but I'm leaving other things open so I can kind of explore while I'm writing. I'm hoping to put out a chapter every other day and let's hope I can stick to that schedule!

You fall asleep eventually. You spent some time reading, then some time fantasizing about what Rogers will say to you when you meet him. The carriage stopped so everybody could have some dinner. When it got dark you closed the curtains in front of the little windows and dozed off.

In your dream, you're back home. You're in the big hall, but this time your parent's bodies aren't there. The hall is filled with people. Tony is there, he winks at you. You're wearing mother's wedding dress, the one you used to play with when you were little. You walk down the aisle, escorted by your father. You try to ask him what's going on, but he just keeps walking, almost dragging you along. Natasha's in the crowd too, but she looks at you, angrily. And there at the end is a man. You can't make out his face, but you know who he's meant to be. Steve Rogers. It's your wedding day, you suddenly realize. But you're not ready! You try to turn to Tony, to ask him to help you, but his face is cold and uncaring. "You should have used the red ink!" he says when he sees you look at him. Natasha has disappeared suddenly, and you try to walk away, but you can't. The wedding dress is too tight, it feels like the dress is getting tighter and tighter. You can't breathe. Nobody does anything as you drop to the floor, choking. The last thing you see is your father, walking away from you.

You wake up with a gasp. You sit up, wiping away the drool on your chin. You quickly fix your hairdo and get the wrinkles out of your gown. You push away the curtains to see where you are, but it's no use. There's only darkness out there. You close the curtains again, a little bit agitated. You don't want to make everybody stop just to ask how long it'll be until you're in America, but you hate not knowing. Outside there is the unknown and there could be HYDRA soldiers or other horrible people. You've been so anxious about what America will be like that you forgot the journey to America could be dangerous.

The carriage slows down a bit and then speeds up. You put your feet up and close your eyes. Everything’s going to be all right, you tell yourself. Everything's going to be all right. You doze off again, but this time you don't even dream. Everything's just black, like you're outside of the carriage. You wake up when the carriage stops. You're there, you suddenly realize. You're in the Kingdom of America and out there, somewhere, is Rogers.

A guard opens the door. "We're there, your Highness."

He helps you out of the carriage. It's dark, but there are some fire baskets alight and the entire castle right in front of you is alight. It's a comforting sight. The gates are opened, and you can hear people talking. You can make out at least four figures, but you've got no idea if they're male or female. The guard on your right steps forward.

"I present to you, the daughter of Howard Stark, her Highness Y/N Stark from the Kingdom of Stark."

"That's a lot of Stark," you hear one of the people murmur. It's a man, you can't make out his face, but his voice is warm.

You drop into a deep curtsy, waiting for King Rogers to step forward and help you up. Even though you were expecting it, you yelp when you feel two warm hands taking yours and slowly pulling you up.

"I'm Steve Rogers," he says. "Welcome to America."

You look up. The firelight gives you a vague look of his face. He still has the beard and he's smiling at you.

"Let's get you inside, where I can look you in the eye properly," he says. "My men will help you get everything you've brought with you inside, your Highness."

You look at the people who are standing next to the King. The man who made the Stark joke is standing the closest to Steve. His hair is long and brown, and he has a slight stubble. He nods at you. There's a woman too. Her long red hair is loose, and she stares at you intently. If you had to guess, she's Wanda Maximoff. Another man, older, with extremely short hair. He leads the way.

You hold on to King Roger's hands. He squeezes it softly when you stumble. You really can't see that properly in the dark. Once you get inside, that problem is eradicated. There's light everywhere and you have to let your eyes adjust for a moment.

"I take it the journey went well?" the woman asks. You immediately notice her accent. It's totally different from the man who made the joke or Roger's accent.

"Yes, thank you," you say. You've talked to so many people from so many kingdoms and her accent sounds familiar, but you just can't place it.

"Sokovia," she answers a bit coolly. "That's where I'm from."

"Oh."

"Well, this is General Wanda Maximoff," King Rogers says. Wanda nods slightly. "This is James Barnes, but everybody calls him Bucky. He's my personal bodyguard and he will be finding you one too."

"I'll make sure you're well protected, your Highness," Bucky says. "Can't have the future Queen in danger."

"Thank you," you respond.

"And this is my advisor, Phil Coulson," he says, pointing to the older man who reaches over to you and a bit awkwardly shakes your hand.

"I've talked to your father quite a few times, Princess Y/N. He was a good man and I'm sorry for your loss."

You nod, looking at the ground. You're suddenly so tired, even if you did sleep in the carriage. Everything just feels so different. The smells, the background noises, the walls, everything is a harsh reminder that you're not home. You feel King Roger's hand on the small of your back.

"I'll have someone escort you to your rooms. You must be exhausted. We'll talk a bit more tomorrow."

* * *

You walk to your rooms with one of your guards and a maid. Your bags are put down and while the maid gets busy trying to get the bags with your dresses to the new closet, you walk over to the window. Your new bedroom is bigger than the one you had at home, which makes sense considering you were a simple Princess back home and here you are the future Queen. The room is decorated in dark blue colors, very different from the rich reds that you have grown up seeing everywhere in the Stark Kingdom. From your window, you can see the courtyard. You look up at the night sky and see the stars. A comforting sight.

"I'll be right outside, your Highness," the guard tells you. You nod.

You're in America. You've met Steve Rogers. You haven't really talked that much, but he seems... decent. But it's still a strange thing to realize, that you've just met your future husband, that he's going to kiss you soon and do even more to you. You shiver.

"Your Highness? Tomorrow you'll be assigned a personal maid," the maid explains. "She will help you unpack everything and more. Good night."

"Good night," you say. She leaves and now you're all alone.

After some time, you go and get your nightgown out of your bags. You struggle a bit getting yourself out of the elaborate gown but eventually you succeed. You brush your hair and wash your face. In the bathroom, you look at yourself in the mirror, a young girl who's lost. But for the greater good, you tell yourself. You close all the curtains and climb in bed, watching the candle on your nightstand flicker. You wonder how you're going to decorate the room. You start making plans - you want at least five vases filled with flowers - but then you remember that this room is only temporary.

After the wedding, you'll have to share a room with King Rogers.

* * *

After a night filled with nightmares and you tossing and turning, you're awoken by someone barging around the room, muttering to herself under her breath and bumping into stuff. You sit up, blinking at the woman. She's young and slim with long dark curls. As soon as she notices you're awake she laughs.

"Well, well, sleeping beauty! Nice dream?"

You frown at her.

"You were moaning and whimpering in your sleep," the woman says, wiggling her eyebrows at you. "One look at good old Steve and you're jumping his bones in dreamland?"

You have no idea how to respond to that. Whoever this woman is, she's very blunt. No 'Your Highness' stuff or deep bows, she was even calling the king 'good old Steve'. Maybe she's a close friend of his? But why would she be carrying around your dresses and try to put some of your stuff on the shelves in the room if she was Rogers' friend?

"Who are you?" you ask, deciding to let the comment about you dreaming about Steve slide. If this stranger wants to believe you have been dreaming about him, she can do that. You aren't going to explain to her that you dreamed about your father's severed head.

"Darcy Lewis, at your service," the woman says, mocking a salute. "I'm your personal maid. Normally I'm Foster's but she's away and Steve was probably going crazy of me just hanging around here, so he sent me to you. I'm just sorting out your stuff."

"Oh, all right."

"Better get dressed. Steve's coming here in half an hour to have breakfast with you."

You're out of bed in a matter of seconds. Darcy laughs loudly as she sees you run to the bathroom.

* * *

You had gotten yourself ready in twenty minutes. The whole time Darcy just watched on, amused, her arms folded across her chest. While you tried to get your hair to cooperate, she told you all kind of stories about a Lady Jane Foster who traveled between the Kingdom of Asgard and the Kingdom of America and was supposedly brilliant. She then told you about how she had become friends with King Rogers who apparently appreciated her confidence. Yeah, she sure had some confidence.

"You look fine," she eventually told you. So now you are sitting in the room next to your bedroom with a big window and a table. There is only one other chair, one for King Rogers. Darcy has left to go and get breakfast for the two of you and you stare at the empty chair, rocking your feet back and forth underneath your skirts. He can be here any minute and you're going to eat with him and you're going to talk to him.

About what?

You have no idea.

Darcy appears in the door opening with a tray. She plops it on the table. "Here ya go, sleeping beauty."

"Is he here yet?"

"No sign of Steve," Darcy answers. "But you have like five more minutes. Try to relax. He's not going to bite you. Unless you ask him to, of course."

You groan. While Darcy is much better than a boring maid who's too scared to talk to you, you can already see how she will irritate you to the point of wanting to kill her in the future. She reminds you a bit of Petra, Kira, and Lola, if they were one person and a lot more annoying. But she's honest and won't let anyone walk over her. You can respect that. While you think about that Darcy walks over and opens the window, breathing in the fresh air.

"Did you grow up in America?" you ask her.

"Yes. In a farm not far from here. I'm the youngest of five," Darcy says, her back to you. "My parents were lovely people, but I knew I wanted to be more than a farmer's wife. I went here and got a job scrubbing the floors. When Jane came, she talked to me about all her experiments. She taught me some stuff and I proved to myself what I had already suspected so long ago, I _could_ be more than just a farmer's wife. I've been here for five years now and they've been the five best years of my life. Thanks to Steve and Jane."

"What do you want to do with your life? What's the plan?" you ask her.

She turns around. Her voice had changed when she was talking about coming to the palace. She had sounded calmer, more mature. Her face is relaxed too. You're strangely grateful for her momentary vulnerability.

"I want to set up a school. I want to make sure all girls get the education they deserve," Darcy says, "every one of them. That's the dream."

"A good dream," someone says from the door opening. You turn to the man standing there, King Rogers. He smiles gently.

"Well, I wouldn't come up with a bad dream," Darcy says. "I'll be off then. Have a nice breakfast, love birds!"

You stand up and drop into a curtsy. You can hear him sigh as he takes your hands and helps you up. "You don't have to do that."

"It would be rude not to."

"You're going to be my wife," he says. "It would be rude of me to expect you to curtsy every time you see me."

You stare at him, a bit bewildered. He sits down on the chair, motioning to you to sit down also. "I'm assuming you're hungry?"

"A little bit,” you say, sitting down again, reaching to the bowl of blueberries.

In total silence, the both of you prepare your breakfast. You pour the tea and he offers you the rest of the fruit that you slice up. He eats porridge, something you're sure Tony would have found amusing. Porridge's normally for the poor, certainly not for the King of America. You prick your fork in a strawberry slice and bring it to your mouth. You think of everyone back home. Pepper and Tony are probably having breakfast now and knowing your brother, he's probably up to some kind of plan. Or maybe not. He's changed in a way you didn't expect. The last few days you've seen a slightly more mature version of him, the version your father had always hoped would someday present itself. Just like you've been changed by the sight of your parent's being murdered, he too has been affected by it.

"You're homesick, aren't you?" King Rogers asks.

You look up from your food. "I've been away from home many times. I've only been here one night, but it's different now, knowing this is my new home."

"America may not feel like home now, but I hope it will eventually," he says. He sounds honest.

You nod. You hope that too.

"I once visited the Stark Kingdom when I was younger with my mother. For a funeral. I'm sorry to say I can't remember whose funeral it was, but we met there. You were just a young girl," he says, stirring his porridge. "You were quite spunky."

You allow yourself to smile while you try to remember a funeral where you met Steve Rogers. "How so?"

"If my memory serves me well... you told your great-aunt very bluntly to not lie to you about heaven. She was telling you about how whoever had died was safe and cared for and was now very happy and you just snapped at her. You didn't want to be soothed with a comforting story. You wanted to be taken seriously and made that quite clear."

"I don't remember that."

"I do. I'm missing that fire and honesty now, Y/N," Rogers says, looking you straight in the eye. "Why are you here?"

"To marry you."

"Why?"

"Because I want to."

"Why would you want that?" he asks, frowning a bit. "Be honest."

"You have a good reputation." True. "I admire you and from all the suitors you were the one I could see myself with." Partially true. "That's it." A lie.

"And because I'll provide the Stark Kingdom protection," Rogers says.

You put down your cup, hoping your cheeks aren't as flushed as they feel.

"I knew that already. You can say it," Rogers says. "An alliance with America would benefit the Stark Kingdom greatly. I'm no fool. After... the HYDRA attack... I'm sure your country needs all the protection it can get. But why would you turn me down the first time?"

"Tony did that," you murmur. "I had no idea you wanted to marry me. When I found out later..."

He nods, he understands.

From all the Kings you've heard of, you suppose he would be the most understanding. You've heard the stories of his undying loyalty to his kingdom, how he himself had lead armies and fought to keep his people safe. If he had been in your position, would he have done the same? The Rogers from the stories would have.

"A brave thing to do. There's the fire I was talking about," Rogers says, finishing his porridge.

You don't know what to say. You try to eat some more, knowing you'll hate yourself if you don't. Maybe you're not hungry now but soon you will be. At home, you would just go to the kitchens and ask for some leftovers, but you don't know the cooks here and you don't want to ask Darcy to get some snacks for you. You're so caught up in your own world that you jump when someone knocks on the door.

It's Phil Coulson.

"Sir? You don't want to be late for the meeting. Also, I have Barnes here to talk to Princess Y/N about her bodyguard."

Rogers stands up. "Well, that concludes our breakfast then. I'll see you later." He bends over, pressing a quick kiss on your cheek that somehow still feels too intimate. His beard tickles and you pull away from him. He sighs and follows Coulson. You touch your cheek like you can rub away the invisible mark that he left on you, waiting for Barnes to come in.


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky offers to take you to the gardens for a walk while you talk about a bodyguard. You're a bit confused. "Gardens?"

"They're behind the castle. Sarah, Steve's ma, kept them in perfect condition. After she died Steve took over that job."

You follow Bucky through the corridors, trying to imagine the mighty King of America on his knees, pulling out weeds. It's an almost comical sight and you suppress a giggle. Surely Rogers is rich enough to hire the best gardener? It's not bad that your future husband knows how to take care of a garden, it's actually quite nice to know he's humble enough to do gardening stuff, it's just a surprise.

On your way outside you pass a wall with paintings of the royal family. You stop and take a look. There's a beautiful painting of a man you can only assume is Steve's father. They both have incredibly blue eyes and the same crooked nose. His blonde hair... he got that from his mother, you realize. There's a painting of her in a gorgeous dress with her crown on. But it's not a formal painting. She's holding a baby on her lap and she's looking at the baby, giggling.

"She loved Steve with all her heart," Bucky says behind you. "She never let him out of her sight. He was quite a sickly child."

Steve, a tree of a man, sickly? Your eyes widen in surprise.

There are some more paintings, of his grandparents and great grandparents. There's also one of him, as a newly crowned King. He doesn't have a beard and he looks more like a boy than a man. Years of leading an entire kingdom has certainly changed him. You turn to look at Bucky, who has his hands in his pockets and is studying the painting with a certain fondness in his eyes.

"Did you grow up with him?" you ask Bucky.

"Yeah. I came here when I was a boy, with my mother. She worked here, as a maid. Steve was quite the rascal then. In a good way. He just liked adventuring. He hated the constriction that comes with the crown. He drove everyone mad, especially his parents. I looked out for hem and when it was necessary, kicked his ass." He laughs. "I became a soldier and the moment that Steve became King, he asked me to become his bodyguard. He still needs protection, just not from himself anymore."

“I’ve never had a bodyguard. My parents had one, who went with them when they traveled abroad.”

The thought comes up. If your parents had had a bodyguard that fateful evening, would they have survived? Sure, there had been guards in the room, but they had kept to the walls to not disturb the people who were dancing. If an armed person, disguised to look like just another guest, had been at their sides…

“It’s standard practice here. Believe me, I’ll make sure you’re not bothered by whoever is there to protect you…”

“It’s fine,” you interrupt him. You don’t want to across as some stuck-up princess who doesn’t want to follow their rules. “Do you have a suitable candidate?”

“Oh, I do,” Bucky says, putting his hand on your back. “Come on, let’s go to the garden and we’ll meet someone who can tell us much more about this candidate.”

* * *

 The garden is gorgeous. There are beautiful trees with blossoms and flowers everywhere. Everything’s incredibly well taken care of, not a single weed in sight. Bucky walks with purpose, he’s waving at someone at the end of the garden. You hear someone laughing. It’s the laugh of a child, you’re sure.

You follow Bucky, admiring the red rosebushes. Your mother loved rosebushes. If she was here, she would never stop gushing about them, you think.

At the end of the garden is an apple tree with a swing. It’s an old one and you wonder who put it there. It’s not something befitting a Queen’s garden. You didn’t have swings at home. The only time you saw one was on one of the visits to the farmers with your family. The farm with the big family that you had visited had a swing and you had watched on, jealous, as the children ran around freely and climbed on the contraption and swung back and forth like it was nothing. You had wanted to try but your mother only had to glare at you once for you to back away from it. Always the outsider.

There’s a girl on it, her hair in pigtails. She’s screaming at a boy who’s running around, madly waving with a stick. You look at Bucky, who quickly hugs a woman who you assume is the mother. Her dark brown hair is up, and you take in her long face and a friendly smile.

“Laura,” Buck says, “meet Princess Y/N. You know why she’s here in America.”

Laura quickly curtsies. “Your Highness.”

“Princess, this is Laura Barton. She’s only on a visit here.”

“It’s nice to see everyone again,” Laura says. She has a baby on her hip who burps. “We live in a farm far away and while the quiet is lovely, I have missed being cooked for.”

Bucky laughs. “So, Y/N, Laura here is married to Clint Barton. You might have heard of him. Probably his alias, Hawkeye.”

Of course, you’ve heard of Hawkeye. He’s a legend. Your brother is crazy about him. He’s fought in many battles, armed only with his bow and arrow. He never misses and is absolutely lethal.  
So, his real name is Clint Barton and he has children? A wife? And a farm? It makes sense. He’s been absent from the battlefield for a few years now, something that made your brother come up with all sorts of theories, every theory getting crazier and crazier.

“Yes, I’ve heard of him,” you quickly answer when you see Laura looking at you expectantly. “My brother admires him greatly.”

“He’s my candidate,” Bucky declares. “He’s perfect. Reliable, professional. He’s been a bodyguard for a few times. And he’ll gladly join you at your tea parties, Princess.”

Laura laughs, rocking her baby back and forth. “As long as there’s cake!”

“So, what do you think?” Bucky asks.

You don’t know how to react. What can you say in front of Hawkeye’s wife? You’re not at all able to say something negative. Even though you don’t have any objections to Hawkeye becoming your bodyguard, you’re irritated because Bucky has cornered you and has made you feel like an outsider. You can’t help but feel that both these people in front of you find it amusing. And the longer you’re silent, the more you can see them struggling to hold back their laughter.

You purse your lips, straightening your back. “I’ll have to meet him myself to make up my mind about him. But he seems…suitable.”

“Mommy! I want to tell you something!” the girl on the swing jumps off and runs to her mother, tugging on her sleeve to make Laura crouch down.

“We’ll be on our way,” Bucky says, leading the way. But you know your way out of the garden and match his pace, almost walking in front of him.

“Never do that again,” you hiss.

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

* * *

It’s late in the afternoon and you’ve sorted everything out in your chambers.

You’ve calmed down a bit and you’re not that angry at Bucky anymore. He was just trying to test you. It wasn’t fun, but you can’t blame him for wanting to know more about the future queen of America. You just don’t like being pushed around, being forced in stuff. Every cell in you wants to fight when that happens. Maybe it’s the fire that Rogers talked about, maybe it’s just what happens when you’re raised with Natasha Romanov.

The door opens. It’s Darcy, carrying a basket with linens.

“I had to bring this to you. New bedsheets and stuff.”

She dumps the basket the ground and collapses in one of the chairs next to the fireplace. “Boy, am I tired. I’ve had to climb like…two stairs!” When she notices you glare at her, she quickly adds: “What!?”

“Nothing. So, what can I expect from dinner?” you ask her. You ate your lunch here, on your own. It was nice to be alone for a moment, to just take a moment to go through everything that had happened.

“I suppose you’ll eat with Steve in his dining room. Sometimes he eats alone but he usually eats with a group of friends.”

“Which friends?”

“Maximoff, Wilson. Sometimes he lets Scott eat with him, but I’m convinced he does it out of pity. Tonight, the Barton’s will probably eat with them. And Bucky of course. I heard you went with the gardens with him?”

“He wanted to introduce me to Laura Barton,” you respond, ignoring the way Darcy sits a bit upright.

“Did he talk about me?”

“No.”

“Did you mention me?”

“No.”

“Come on, Sleeping beauty! Next time you have to mention me! Tell him about how amazing I am and how devastatingly pretty,” Darcy whines.

“Why would I do that?”

“I want him. Who wouldn’t?”

You roll your eyes at her. Darcy’s impossible. You go and sit behind your desk, ignoring Darcy chattering on about the few times she got to talk to Bucky. It hasn’t been a few days, but you already know you’re going to write a positive letter home, so it wouldn’t hurt to get started already.

You get the green ink ready and begin.

_Dear Pepper,_

_I hope you are doing well and that everything’s going smoothly at home._

_Everything is well here. I’ve met King Steve Rogers and he’s a good man. We have to get to know each other a bit more, but I’m sure he’ll be a good husband and eventually a great father. I’ve met Phil Coulson, who has apparently met my father quite a few times. Natasha will be pleased to know I’ve also met Wanda Maximoff. But Tony will probably lose his mind when he hears this, Pepper, so tell him when he’s sitting down: I’ll meet Hawkeye soon. The Hawkeye. He’s a candidate for the role of my bodyguard. I’ll send Tony a letter once I’ve talked to him about what kind of person the great Hawkeye is in real life. Promise._

_Don’t worry about me. I’m settling in here. The food is good, and I have a wonderful room. There’s a beautiful garden here._

You stop writing. You’ll finish the letter tomorrow or the day after that. You turn around to the fireplace. Darcy’s gone. You sigh.

* * *

When you enter Rogers dining room, he’s the only one there. It’s a normal sized room with a big dining table that’s all set up. There’s a fire burning and there are candles flickering on the table. It has a cozy feel about it. It isn’t a formal dining hall where nobody will make conversation during dinner.

Rogers helps you sit down at the head of the table. It’s a bit difficult to get in the chair with your big skirt and you laugh a bit uncomfortably as he struggles to get your skirt all settled. He doesn’t say anything as he pours some wine in your cup. It’s a sweet one, something that you’re grateful for. You don’t drink much; you only ever drink with Natasha and she always brings the one that’s more juice than wine. She only drinks because she wants to hold a glass while she talks. You can handle this one, though.

“So, I heard Bucky irritated you a bit, this morning,” Rogers finally says as he sits down on the other end of the table. As far away from you as possible.

“I might have overreacted a bit. It’s all right,” you say. “He did show me the garden though.”

He looks pleasantly surprised. “Did you like it?”

“It’s gorgeous.” It’s the truth. “Do you really do all the work there?”

“I do. I’m there when the sun rises. It’s a nice job to do and it’s really not that much work. It’s also a nice distraction from the eternal meetings with everybody.”

You take another sip of your wine. “We don’t have a garden back home. I didn’t even know what I was missing.”

“You’re welcome to join me, tomorrow. Unless you’re not an early riser,” he says.

You ponder the idea of going to the garden with him tomorrow. It would be nice to get to know him a little bit better. It’s not a bad idea to become friends with your future husband and if he likes you, you probably wouldn’t even have to convince him to send a part of his army over to the Stark Kingdom.

Also, it wouldn’t be much of a punishment to spend some time there. It’s a lovely place. And it has a swing.

“I’ll be there when the sun rises.”

He smiles. It’s a contagious smile. You try to hide your own by taking another sip. When you look at him, you catch a brief glimpse of that young boy in the portrait in the hall.

Bucky arrives eventually, grinning at you and taking a swig of his wine. Wanda Maximoff enters the room and sits down in a chair next to you.

“No Sam?” Bucky asks Rogers.

“He was too busy.”

“Too busy… with what?”

“Bucky…” Rogers sighs.

You look at Maximoff, who too has been listening. She purses her lips, sighing. “Boys…” she mutters in that accent of hers and you suppress a chuckle.

You’re about to ask her about Natasha when the door opens and a man enters, together with Laura Barton. She sits down, exchanging some pleasantries with Bucky. The man walks over to you, a warm smile on his face. He takes your hand and presses a quick kiss on the back.

“Princess Y/N Stark, I’m sorry I couldn’t be there when you arrived,” he says.

He’s not a very handsome man, his hair is short and sticks upright and the lines on his face betray that he’s a lot older than you. but he looks strong and most of all, kind.

“Don’t mention it. You’re Hawkeye, right?”

“Yes, but tonight I’m Clint.”

“Then I’ll be Y/N.”

He sits down next to you.

When dinner is served you look a bit helpless at the crab that’s served. You’ve never eaten that before. Your father didn’t exactly love fish. Your mother used to tease him about it endlessly.  Clint notices and helps you. While the others listen as Laura Barton tells everyone about something that happened last week that’s so hilarious that Maximoff bursts into laughter next to you, Clint talks to you. He tells about the battles he’s fought and about how he can do more than just shoot arrows. You tell him about Tony being a fan of him, something that he tries to brush off, but you can clearly see how touched he is. Soon, you’re trading stories about your childhoods and by the time dessert is served you’re convinced. You want Clint as your bodyguard.

It’s a nice evening and wine keeps being poured in your cup until you’re almost floating in your chair. You’ve never drunk this much. The most you had ever drunk were two or three glasses of Natasha’s wine which resulted in you feeling pleasantly buzzed. This is a lot different. You’re feeling very warm and you’re laughing so loudly it hurts your ears.

Eventually, people start leaving and you feel a man’s arm around your waist, helping you up. You say bye to Laura Barton who looks so beautiful in the candle night you want to reach over to her and tell her that she’s a diamond. Once you’re outside the dining room you realize who’s helping to your room.

It’s Rogers.

But shouldn’t you refer to him as Steve? What’s going to happen when you sleep with him? When you have children? Can you still call him Rogers then? Wouldn’t it be strange?

“Can I call you Steve?” you ask him, pressing your hand to his chest.

“Of course,” he answers.

He’s so strong and big. It would be an impossible task for you to push him over, you realize. You stumble a bit, but he holds you upright, pushing open a door.

It’s your bedroom door, you realize five seconds later.

Darcy is there. You can hear her loud voice from what seems like five miles away.

“What happened!?”

“Too much wine. Come on, help me put her in bed.”

“Well, you can carry her to bed for me but you’re not undressing her. Miss Prim and Proper here would have a heart attack.”

You slur something. Steve puts his other arm under your legs and picks you up in a surprisingly gentle manner. He lays you down on the bed and then you hear him leave as Darcy starts pulling off your dress.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the wait! I've been hit by a cold and I've been also been really busy. The upcoming weekend will only be even busier! I have no idea when the next chapter will be out, I'm working on it but I'm struggling a bit with this story. There are so many directions that I can take with this story so I'm just writing and rewriting and then re-rewriting! 
> 
> I want to thank you all for the comments, the kudos, and just all the love! Thank you so much, you guys have no idea how happy knowing you're enjoying my story makes me! <3

When you walk into the garden the following morning, Steve looks at you like he’s just seen you walk over water.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he says finally.

He’s dressed way more casually, and his hair is all messy. He looks almost like a normal man.

“I said I would be here, so I came.”

“I mean, after last night. I should have warned you. It’s quite a strong wine.”

You nod. “Mmh. Well, I don’t have much experience drinking, so that didn’t help me either. If it’s alright with you, I’m just going to sit down and watch you.”

“Be my guest.”

You sit down on the bench and watch as he pulls some weeds out of a flowerbed. Your head is still throbbing and your mouth dry, but you can handle it. You once had to attend a royal event after you had just thrown up. While you had stood next to your mother, holding her hand, you had felt the next wave of nausea and you had held it back for the next half hour until you were alone and just vomited all over yourself. You’re strong. You can handle this.

If you had been able to sleep, you probably wouldn’t have come. You hadn’t told Darcy to wake you up when the sun rose, but you had been awake long before that. It turned out that heavy drinking didn’t at all help you with your nightmares. They had been even more vivid and upsetting. So, you had decided to go down here. Sitting in your room trying not to think of blood or sitting here, watching your future husband while he gardened. The choice was simple.

“I’m going to expand the garden soon,” Steve tells you. “I want some more flowerbeds. With dandelions.”

You frown. “Aren’t those weeds?”

“They’re pretty weeds. And my mother loved them.” He goes back to work. “She drove the gardeners crazy when she said she wanted dandelions. She had them for a while when she managed the garden herself, but then she got too sick to work and she had to let the gardeners do their job. They got rid of them.”

You bite your lip.

“What was your mother’s favorite flower?” he asks.

“Roses. The classic answer,” you respond. “I thought of her when I saw the rosebushes, yesterday.”

“I’ll plant some more rosebushes, then. If you want, you could plant one yourself. In your mother’s memory.”

It’s such a touching gesture and after the night you’ve been through (hours and hours of being forced to see your mother dying over and over and over again until you felt like you wanted to scratch your eyes out), you burst into tears. The look on Steve’s face when that happens is almost comical. He immediately stands up but keeps his distance.

After a few minutes, you pull yourself together and you can feel your cheeks flooding with warmth. For two months you’ve cried, but never in front of anybody. You’ve cried with your face buried in your pillow, you’ve cried behind a dark veil, you’ve cried in the bathroom, but you never let anyone see. They knew the grief that had taken and changed you, but you just knew that if you had burst into tears in front of Natasha, Pepper, or Tony, you would have hurt them so much.

And now you’ve cried. In front of Steve. Steve Rogers. King of America. Your future husband. You’re so, so stupid.

Once Steve’s sure that you’ve calmed down, he sits down next to you. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” you almost shriek.

“I shouldn’t have brought up your mother. I know how much losing a parent can hurt.”

“It’s not that. I was really touched… I’ve just had a horrible night.”

“You’re never drinking again,” he warns you, almost playful.

“I won’t fight you on that.”

You can’t help but realize that this conversation with Rogers… no, Steve… is much better than the conversation you had with him at breakfast yesterday. He’s more at ease now and so are you. Maybe it’s the fact that both of you are dressed much more plainly, so plain that both of you could be easily mistaken for a wealthy commoner. Or it’s the relaxed setting. Or that he brought you to your room last night while he had no obligation to do so.

“Why do you want to marry me?” you ask him. He knows why you want to marry him, but you have no idea why he would want a Queen, now, and why he would want you to play that role. He’s been a King for some years now and he’s never really expressed any interest in marriage.

“Coulson’s been pestering me for ages about getting married. When we heard other King’s were sending marriage proposals to you, I decided to take a chance. You seemed like a good match and it got Coulson of my back for a while.”

“You must have been annoyed when my letter came, saying I accepted the proposal,” you joke.

He looks at you, frowning. “No. Not at all.” He stares at you and it’s so intense that you have the feeling he’s looking right through you, that he sees everything, even your deepest secrets. It’s uncomfortable, so you stand up.

“Who put the swing there?” You point to the apple tree.

He stays silent for a minute like he’s debating if he’s going to call you out for abruptly changing the subject. Then: “I did. In case there ever were any children that wanted to use it. The Barton kids use it.” He looks at the swing, slightly swaying in the breeze. “I imagined my child, on it, when I put it there.”

Something clenches in your stomach when you look at the swing now. Imagining a boy or a girl, your child, swinging and laughing. A child that Steve had put in you, that you had carried for months. A child that calls you mommy.

Without saying anything you walk the path to the apple tree. Your shoes get a little wet from the dew drops when you set foot on the grass. You reach over and touch the coarse rope of the swing.

Steve has followed you, his hands in his pockets. You turn to him. “Do you think it’s strong enough to hold me?”

He nods and you sit down. Your skirt is in the way, so you pull it up and bunch it up around your waist, leaving your stocking clad legs visible to Steve. It’s a scandalous thing to do but you don’t care. You just want to sit on the swing. You hear a bit of creaking, but you haven’t fallen down, so you decide to try it out. Slowly, you rock back and forth, remembering how the farm children and the Barton girl did it.

It’s not that hard at all. After a few minutes, you’ve gotten the hang of it and you’re a lot higher. It’s freeing and definitely not very ladylike, you have to give your mother that, but it’s so amazing that you’re just going to ignore every rule about being a proper woman you have ever been taught. It’s not like Steve cares, he just watches on, amused.

“You’ve never been on a swing?” he finally asks.

“No.” You slow down a bit. “It’s really nice.”

* * *

The day passes. Bucky drops by to tell you Clint has agreed to become your bodyguard. You spend some time pondering how to end the letter to Pepper and eventually end up tearing the beginning that you wrote the day before into pieces. You wander through the castle with Darcy who’s there to make sure you’re back in time at your room for the dress fitting.

Phil Coulson made sure you got the best dressmaker. You have no idea what her name is – she just bursts in the room with her girls and tools and got to work – but you know she’s expensive. She measures you and spends some time just studying you.

“So, what’s the vision?” she finally asks, acknowledging you for the first time.

“Vision?”

“For the dress. Any requests?” she asks, impatiently. A woman puts her hands on your hips from behind and forces you in a slow twirl.

“Well… something nice?” You regret saying that the moment it comes out your mouth.

The dressmaker purses her lips. “All my dresses are nice, _honey_.”

She has obviously decided that she’s not going to waste her time by talking to you, so she turns to her assistants. “I’m thinking a mix between Sarah Rogers and Queen Brunnhilde. The perfect match. Fancy, fitting for a queen of America, but not detracting from her natural beauty.”

The assistants nod eagerly, all at the exact moment. It’s quite a comical sight and you can hear Darcy bursting into laughter behind you.

“Excuse me? What would it look like? Can you explain it to me?” you ask the dressmaker.

“Sarah, may she rest in peace, wore quite a big dress when she got married,” the dressmaker explains. “She had this really long train, and everybody looked at her. I want a long train for you too, but not as long as hers. It was a real hazard on her wedding day. I made the dress for Queen Brunnhilde not long ago when she got married to King Thor of Asgard and she was quite clear, she wanted a simple form-fitting dress. It was quite a hit. You need the best of both dresses.”

She sighs, reaching over to you and putting her hands on your cheeks, pulling you down. “You’re going to look gorgeous, dear. Now, I’m assuming you brought your mother’s veil with you?”

You nod, turning to Darcy. “It’s in the linen bag in the closet, can you get it?”

Darcy forces herself out of her chair, groaning loudly.

It’s a tradition for a bride to wear the veil of the women in her family before her. Pepper wore the veil before you. Normally she would have worn her mother’s veil, but it had been destroyed in a fire, so your mother had given Pepper hers. It’s a beautiful veil with lace that your grandmother and great grandmother wore too.

The dressmaker admires the veil. “Good quality. I can work with this.”

Eventually the dressmaker and her assistant’s leave. Darcy spends some time imitating the assistants and it actually makes you laugh so hard until you feel like you’re going to throw up. You wipe away the tears while Darcy starts mimicking the dressmaker’s voice and the way she wrinkles her nose.

That’s when you realize you’re crying out of laughter. Not out of grief.

* * *

At dinner, you meet Sam Wilson. He’s a handsome man who immediately cracks a few jokes. You notice the tension between him and Bucky and the tired look on Steve’s face when Sam refuses to hand the wine bottle over to Bucky. Ignoring the childish spat between Bucky and him, you’re charmed by Sam. He’s clearly done his research about the Stark Kingdom and when he talks about the work he’s doing - training soldiers and supporting veterans -, he softens a bit and you can see he enjoys helping people.

Clint keeps the wine bottle away from you and you’re more than content to just drink water. The food is good, and Clint amuses everyone with a story about when he was younger and the trick he pulled on his teacher. It’s a story the rest has heard already, judging from the way Maximoff mumbles the story with him under her breath, but it’s new to you and very hilarious.

During dinner, you regularly look over to Steve. He’s so far away from you that that’s the only thing you can do. A part of you wish you were seated next to him, so you could talk to him. He’s relatively silent during dinner, he only says something when Sam and Bucky go too far in their insult war or someone asks for his opinion. He’s mostly busy eating and listening. It’s something that makes the dinner a very relaxed affair. Everybody’s casual and whenever somebody wants to say something, they can do that. At the end of the evening, you finally gather up the courage to tell a story of your own, about an adventure with Natasha. Maximoff perks up at the mention of Natasha.

“Natasha as in Natasha Romanov?” she asks you.

You nod. “She’s a good friend. She told me about you, General.”

“I fought a battle with her. She has my admiration.”

“And you have hers.”

* * *

 

The next morning you’re there in the garden. This time you’re feeling a lot better, so you get busy too. Steve takes you along to show you how he’s going to expand the garden and what his ideas are. He’s enthusiastic as he talks about it, explaining everything so that you can almost see it. He’s still holding your hand when he tells you where the rosebushes will be and you squeeze his hand, smiling softly.

The days pass and you develop a routine.

You’re busy with getting to know everybody who’s important and the wedding. The dressmaker returns every other day to explain what progress she’s making and how it’s going to look. She changes her mind every time, but you just decide to trust her. As long as you’re wearing your mother’s veil… It’ll be fine. The rest of the wedding needs to be taken care of too. The flowers are quite an endeavor and you have to sit through endless high teas with people. The cake needs to be chosen and what do you want to serve for dinner to the guests? The guest list is also a thing that needs to be done and you decide to ambush Steve after one of his meetings into sitting down with you and going through the list you’ve made. He adds a few people, but also takes some people off the list. You’ve put Tony, Pepper, Natasha and some other old friends on the list too. Hopefully, they’ll be able to come.

You send a letter home in green ink. You talk about Steve. You talk about the fact that Clint Barton is your bodyguard and the most down to earth man ever. You complain about the wedding planning, knowing Pepper will agree with you on that. You watched her plan one years ago and saw how tiring it was.

Your nightmares are still there. The days are good, and everything keeps you busy, so there’s not much time to ponder the fact that your parents won’t be there to attend your wedding. But at night, everything comes crashing down. Clint has entered your room many times to check if you’re not being murdered by some assassin. He’s gentle about it and always leaves immediately the moment he notices you’re not in any danger, but it’s still embarrassing and only makes you more anxious about having to share a bed with Steve.

Having sex with him is already something you’re nervous about, but him being there when you’re crying for your mommy like a little girl only stresses you out more. You know of King and Queens who have separate bedrooms, but that’s not the custom here. You know that if you ask Steve, he’ll let you stay in your own room, only asking you to come his for the… marriage duties… but you don’t want to do that. Gossip spreads easily here and the King and Queen of America not sleeping together will not look good. You’ll just have to deal with it, but that’s easier said and done, and the worrying only makes you sleep less and less.

Eventually, you’re so tired everybody starts worrying. Bucky and Wanda both let you know quite honestly that you have bags under your eyes and Steve suggest that you sleep in and not push yourself too hard to garden every morning with him. Clint eventually knocks on your door one evening with a cup of tea.

“A special brew that Laura uses whenever she’s not sleeping well,” he says. “You need to be careful, kid. If it’s getting a bit too much…”

“I keep dreaming about my parent’s deaths,” you blurt out. It’s almost freeing to say.

He nods. “You saw it happen, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I just can’t get the images out of my head,” you whisper. “Do you ever have nightmares?”

“All the time.” He frowns, pursing his lips. “Whenever they happen… it’s terrible… but I calm down and just… close my eyes after I’m ready to sleep again and dream the dream again, but with me in control. You get it? I can rewrite the dream, sort of. I imagine a happy ending. Maybe try that.”

You thank him for the tea. It’s a bitter drink, but certainly not worse than the medicine you once had to take when you were a little girl. After some time, you get drowsy and you fall asleep. Your nightmares are there, but not as powerful and when you eventually manage to wake up you take Clint’s advice and rewrite the dream. You doze off again and surprisingly dream about Steve.

In your dream you’re in the bathroom in a underdress, waiting until the water in the bathtub is cooled off enough for you to step in. Just when you’re about to take off the underdress he appears. You immediately notice something’s different because you’re in your bathroom back home, so he shouldn’t even be here, but you decide to ignore that as he walks over to you and cups your cheeks, towering over you. There’s a certain tension in the air as he just stares at you, softly trailing his fingers down your cheeks to your throat, finding sensitive spots. You have no idea what to say as he does something that intimate. And then he’s leaning down, and his lips are on yours. His arms are around you and you close your eyes, focusing completely on him pressed against you.

When you wake up with a gasp, you’re embarrassed to admit you’re almost sad you’re awake.


	6. Chapter 6

All the invitations have been sent and already people have sent confirmations of their presence at the royal wedding back. The wedding dress is almost finished and even Darcy has to admit the dressmaker has done a good job.

You go to the garden every morning, taking care of a flower bed that Steve’s ‘given’ you. You hang around the swing and watch the apples on the tree slowly ripening. Steve asks you questions while you work together about your life back home and you do the same. He talks a lot when he’s alone with you and there’s no external pressure. You realize you’re enjoying listening to his voice. He’s a patient listener too and when he laughs about a childhood story you can’t help but giggle. He has a very boyish laugh.

One day you tell him about Natasha. You’re a bit cautious. You know he’ll understand the deep friendship, he and Bucky are also inseparable, but you have no idea how he will react when you tell him you’ve kissed her. You’ve gotten to know Steve and you know he won’t call you a slut or a whore or a freak, he’ll stay calm, but you don’t want him to look at you differently.

Eventually, you tell him, while you’re pulling the final weed out. “I loved Natasha. We used to… we used to be at the beginning of something. A courtship.”

You glance over to him. He’s planting seeds, his hands dirty from the black earth. He looks up when he notices you’ve stopped talking.

“What happened?” he asks.

“What do you mean what happened?”

“Well, why didn’t you two get into a courtship?” he asks, casually.

You look at him, wondering when he’s going to realize you’re talking about a woman. You haven’t met any married women or any married men here. Back home there was one couple that people just didn’t talk about. There weren’t really any rules against it, but no rules in support of it either. People just assumed it was incredibly rare to fall in love with the same sex. You know that’s not true. You’ve met countless other women who were interested in you and you’ve seen young soldiers looking at each other with a certain longing in their eyes. People just… look away when it happens, hoping they will grow out of it. You won’t. You know this is a part of you that’s just there. A part that you don’t want to hide.

“I… I found out a while ago my father didn’t want us to get that close. He warned Natasha so she refrained from going too far. We stayed close, we kissed a bit, and we just… eventually… our dynamics changed. I still love her, but in a different way. I don’t want to marry her anymore.”

“That happens,” Steve says. “Feelings can change. But at least you stayed good friends.”

“I know. I’m grateful for that,” you say, sitting back, wiping your dirty hands on the cloth you keep with you for that purpose. “What do you think of it? That I loved a woman?”

“You’re allowed to love whoever you want to love, Y/N,” he says. “Can I blame you for what you felt about people in the past? Or what gender they have?”

You look at him.

He sighs. “I didn’t know you’re also interested in people who have the same gender as you. But I’m not bothered by it.”

While he continues with his work you lie down in the grass, closing your eyes. The sun is starting to shine and it’s a nice day, not a cloud to be seen.  You’ve seen a few butterflies flying around already. You can just feel the world is slowly coming out of the winter. It’s amazing to see everything slowly changing around you. Something has changed in you too, you realize. Something feels different. Maybe it’s the fact that this will be the first spring without your parents or that you’re going to be married soon or that you could be a mother next year, but you are different. You’re standing upright on your own. You’re slowly feeling at home here in America. You have friends here.

And Steve’s one of them.

* * *

Maximoff asks you to call her Wanda. She trains with Clint every day and sometimes you go and watch. It’s fun to see how at total ease they are with their bodies, how they manage to beat each other again and again. Wanda’s cool exterior melts away as soon as she’s standing there in her pants. Sometimes she fights with her bare hands, sometimes she uses dull knives. Clint teases her and she teases him back. It’s playful, you wouldn’t be here otherwise. You sit under one of the oak trees on the training fields, a picnic basket at your feet. Soldiers train here too, and you can see one of the big cities a while further. You’ve visited it once, with Darcy at your side.

“Your family is coming to the wedding, right?” Wanda asks. She’s on top of Clint, his head pinned between her thighs. You remember it as one of Natasha’s favorite moves, she has had you down like that too many times.

“Yes, I have no idea when they’ll be here, but they’re coming,” you answer. “I think Tony’s only coming because he wants to meet you, Clint.”

Wanda climbs off Clint. He grabs her outstretched hand and gets up.

“You should tell him I’m married,” Clint jokes. “Maybe that will keep him from getting the wrong ideas.”

Wanda laughs, her hair going back and forth because of the breeze. You pluck at the daisy’s that surround you. The ribbons hanging from your hat that you’ve tied underneath your chin digs into your skin a little bit, but you don’t mind. Your mother always made you wear hats when the sun started shining. “We can’t have your pretty face sunburned,” she had exclaimed when you protested, saying you just wanted to run around without the hat in the way.

When you have children, will you fuss over them as she did? Or will you able to let them go? Will you suddenly change, will you keep them locked away from the world in fear? Will they like you and will you love them? You and your mother had your arguments, but you loved her, and you know she loved you. But what if you give birth to a child and you don’t have those motherly feelings, she told you about, what if your baby is just a baby and you don’t… feel anything at all?

You scold yourself for worrying about your future children. You’re not even married yet and you’re already wasting time on a subject far in the future. Well, far future. If you get pregnant soon after your wedding, you could have a baby on your lap this time next year. It’s a strange thought, almost surreal. A baby. A baby that you and Steve made.

You think about the dream kiss. You’ve tried not to think about it too much, certainly not in the presence of Steve, scared that you’ll get all flushed and he’ll start asking questions. You brushed the dream off as a strange side effect of the tea, but lately he’s been coming back in your dreams, making you wake up breathless, wondering if he dreams about you like that too. It’s strange because you’re not really in love with Steve. Maybe you’ll love him someday, but right now you just… like him.

He’s a friend, you like spending time with him and your strange mind has convinced you that you crave his touch. That’s all.

* * *

Clint goes through countless scenarios with you. What to do if you wake up and the palace is under attack, what happens if someone pulls a knife at a formal event, what to do… what to do… what to do. He’s gentle with you and keeps asking you if you want a break, especially when he gets to the most gruesome scenarios.

You’re surprisingly calm. It’s nice to know that there are plans, that you know what to do and that Clint has everything under control. He’s shown you multiple times just how skilled he is with his bow and arrows and you’re at ease with him at your side. Finally, he goes through the wedding schedule with you, telling you where the guards will be, how many of his people will go undercover. The wedding is a risky event. Many royals will attend, and you know how much HYDRA wants to kill Steve. Killing you and a few other important people would be a nice bonus for them. But Clint’s thought of everything. Other royal families are bringing their own security too.

“Really, I would like to see HYDRA try. They would fail miserably,” Clint says confidently, walking through the big hall with you. It’s empty and his voice echoes through the room. Soon there will be an aisle and you’ll walk down it to make a vow to Steve.

“Worrying our future queen?” you hear Bucky say behind you.

“More like reassuring the future queen,” you say, turning around to Bucky. “Clint told me about all the security measures.”

“You just focus on looking pretty when the big day comes, doll,” Bucky drawls. “The rest you leave to us. We’ve got everything covered.”

You scoff at the way he calls you doll. He’s certainly a man who comes up with a lot of nicknames. You’re used to that, Tony used to do it too, but you’ve still not completely warmed up to Bucky.

“Barton, I’ve got a letter for you. From Laura,” Bucky says, throwing Clint an envelope that he catches perfectly. “Also, a letter for you, princess.”

* * *

You curl up in one of your chairs in your room with the letter. You recognize the handwriting. It’s a letter from Natasha and that’s new. You’ve received a few letters from Pepper where half of it is in Tony’s horrible handwriting, but never from Natasha. Apart from the few tidbits of information about Natasha in Pepper’s letters, you have no idea what your friend has been up to lately.

You open the letter. You smell her perfume, that heavy womanly smell that you’ve started associating with home.

_Dearest Y/N,_

_I hope you’re doing well. Pepper told me you’re settling in there and that you’re being tortured with wedding planning. I hope Steve’s treating you well. I can’t say that I wish you’re falling in love with him because that would be a lie, and I don’t want to lie to you._

_Life is different without you. I’ve got nobody to tease. I’ve been busy with some new projects; we’re strengthening our defenses just in case HYDRA attacks again. Tony also put me to work on training civilians to defend themselves better. Particularly the girls here don’t really know how to strategically punch someone._

_I’m writing you to tell you something that you’re not going to like. I won’t attend your wedding. I’m not even going to bother with some lame excuse about being so busy or holding the fort while Tony and Pepper travel off to America. Your absence made me realize some things. I’m still not completely over you. I know we’re not going to be a married couple or something, but I’m not up for seeing you get married to someone else._

_This isn’t the end of our friendship. I’ll visit you in a few months when everything is settled, and I’ve got my own emotions under control. It would be unfair of me to ruin your new life. I know why you’re getting married to Steve and I don’t want to complicate things further._

_I hope you understand. I’m sorry. I know you wanted me there, but it’ll be wrong._

_I’m giving Pepper my wedding gift to you. I hope you’ll wear it and that you’ll think of me, your friend. I wish you all the luck and hope your marriage will be a good one, where you’ll feel safe._

_  
Love,_

_Tasha._

You put the letter down, burying your face in your hands. A part of you understands Natasha’s feelings. A part of you saw this coming. She never explicitly stated she would come to your wedding, she only said she would visit you after you were crowned a Queen. But a bigger part of you wants her to get over herself and step in that carriage with Tony and Pepper.

Once, you imagined your wedding with her as the person you would marry. Later you imagined your wedding with Natasha as your maid of honor, smiling, looking on, having your back. But you never imagined your wedding without her. That’s… just not right. You’ve done almost everything important in your life with her there.

You know you can’t change her decision. She’s not coming, and you’ll have to live with that, you’ll have to keep your head up and walk down that aisle. Pretending that it doesn’t hurt. You have no other choice.

A lump starts to form in your throat. Things have been going great lately, you haven’t regretted your decision coming here at all. You were dumb enough to think that nothing would change back home. A childish thought, that the world revolves around you and that everyone froze back home the moment you left. Everybody’s living their lives there and your relationships with them will change. You’ve tried to ignore that, but now it's here. Natasha has delivered you a punch in the face: a harsh reminder that your friendship with her is changing. And it’s not changing for the better.

* * *

You eat alone that night. You’re tired and you can feel a headache coming up. Everybody’s great and normally you love sitting around one table with them, but they can get quite loud and once the wine really starts flowing, it’s very wild. You’re not up for that tonight.

You sit in your little dining room, thinking of the time you ate breakfast with Steve here. You watch the sun go under and sip on your drink. It’s one of the sweetest wines mixed with water, so you can handle that. It reminds you of Natasha. You’ve put the letter in your letterbox. You’ll have to write something nice back tomorrow, something understanding, something that will make her feel better. You’re not in the mood for that tonight. You’re a little angrier than usual, a bit agitated. You’ll probably have your monthly bleeding soon; you always get more emotional around that time. But even that thought doesn’t comfort you.

When you’re done with dinner you give your plate to one of the servants. You go and sit down on the chaise longue, your skirts dragging on the floor. You close your eyes, trying to calm down a bit. You’re feeling suffocated, like you’ve been locked in a prison. It’s stupid, but you can’t escape the feeling, so you sit up, cursing.

Maybe a walk will do you good. You know you should let Clint know where you are, but you don’t want to risk him coming along with you. You need some time alone, out of the palace. You’re not really in danger in the palace, he’s only really your bodyguard when you go outside the grounds or when you’re at formal events. You doubt HYDRA’s hiding in the shadows tonight, waiting to jump out and kill you. But just in case, you bring your dagger along with you, hiding it in your stocking.

Some guards nod to you. You hear laughing from the kitchen, the cooks and maids are gathered around the fire, telling stories to each other. You know Steve and the rest of the bunch are probably eating their dessert now, joking around and pouring themselves another glass. You feel surprisingly lonely. When you step outside in the cool evening air and walk around the castle to the garden, you feel like every inch the outsider that you are. Inside there’s warmth and there’s light and happiness and here you are, skulking around, feeling like you’re going to die.

You go and sit down on the swing, listening to the creaking noises. You close your eyes, breathing in the air. You should have taken a shawl with you, but you’re not going inside to get one now. You’ll just have to bite through it. The swing calms you down a bit and you lean your head against the rope.

You’re getting married. It’s only now really hitting you. You’re going to marry Steve. He’s going to be your husband and he’ll call you his wife. You’re going to become the Queen of America. You’re going to bear his children. You’ll be here for the rest of your life. Forever. You stifle a gasp.

“Y/N?”

You look up, your hand immediately going to your skirt to bunch it up and get your dagger, but then you realize it’s Steve. He’s standing there, holding a lantern, looking at you with a concerned expression on his face.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

“I was about to ask you the same question. I went looking for you, I wanted to know if you were feeling better. Couldn’t find you.”

“So, you came here?”

“I was about to call for Clint when I looked out the window and saw you. If I had used my head, I would have realized you would come here. You really like that swing.”

You sigh. “I don’t know what’s going on with me.”

“Come on, let’s go inside,” he says, walking over to you, holding up the lantern to look at your face. “No offense, but you look terrible. You’re incredibly pale.”

You want to joke and tell him you’re offended but you know he’s speaking the truth. You feel terrible, so you don’t doubt you look it too. He softly presses his hand against your forehead.

“You have a bit of a fever,” he says. “Nothing serious and it was to be expected with how you’ve been running around lately. I told you to take some rest.”

“If you’re going to marry me, you should know that I don’t listen that well. I’m stubborn,” you say.

He chuckles. “I knew that already. Now, get up, we’re going inside. Sitting outside in just a dress when it’s getting really cold won’t help you get any better.”

He offers you his hand and you take it, holding on to him tightly. You shiver a bit, so he puts his arm around you, and you lean against him. Once the two of you are inside, he puts the lantern down and rubs his hands over your arms, trying to warm you up.

“Do you want to come to my room?” he asks.

You gape at him.

“Not… not like that! I mean… God, I don’t think you should be alone. You’re not really feeling that good, but if you’re not comfortable with going to my room, that’s totally fine too and I’ll just wake up Darcy to look after you.” He’s blushing heavily and it’s the most endearing thing you’ve ever seen.

You smile. “Let’s go to your room.”


	7. Chapter 7

Steve’s room is nice. It’s not big, but it’s cozy. He has a few bookcases and there’s a painting hanging of a blonde elderly woman. You walk over to it, inspecting the brush strokes and the use of colors. It’s a real piece of art. Whoever made this really did their best to capture the woman’s laugh.

“Who drew this?” you ask, looking at the way every eyelash has been painted separately.

“… I did. It’s my mother,” he says. “She loved my paintings, so I drew one of her. It used to hang in her room but when she died, I put it here. To remember her. It’s not really that good.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t know you paint,” you say, turning around. He’s just standing there, a bit nervous like you’re inspecting his room and he's waiting for you to tell at him.

“I’ve done it all my life. I guess painting for me is just another way of looking at the world. When I’m painting something… the world is so incredibly beautiful. You wouldn’t believe it. You start noticing these little details and… there’s a depth to stuff you thought were one-dimensional. It’s really an experience.”

You smile. You’ve forgotten your confusing feelings while you listened to Steve talk about painting. You can tell it really makes him happy, he’s more at ease now and he walks over to a pitcher with water on the desk.

“You want a glass?” he asks.

You nod. “Thank you.”

He pours some water in a glass and walks over to you. When you take the glass from him, your fingertips brush against his skin and it’s like there’s a spark between you. You know you’re not the only one who’s noticed it, because he looks at you with an intensity that almost burns.

“Are you painting something now?” you ask him, staring back at him. You’re not one to back down from a challenge, certainly not one like this.

“Not at the moment. I have an idea for a next piece though. Just haven’t had the time,” he murmurs. He breaks the eye-contact and you’re almost disappointed. “There’s… there’s not really a normal way to say this, but I’ve been sketching you.”

“Me? Can I see it?”

He wasn’t expecting that question; you can see it on his face. But then you can see the relief when he realizes that you’re not mad at him, that you don’t yell at him that he’s a pervert for drawing you without his permission. You wait curiously as he goes and gets something from his desk. You sit down on the bed, crossing your legs.

He shows you the sketches. He kneels next to you as you look at them. They’re rough ones, but the women he’s drawn are clearly you. You recognize a lot of moments you’ve shared with him. You’re there, curtsying for him. And that’s you, on the swing, your stocking clad legs in the air. You flip to the next paper and you see yourself, lying in the grass, eyes closed, clearly enjoying the morning. You immediately recognize it as yourself at that time when you told him about Natasha. When you closed your eyes, he must have studied you, storing the image in his head to later sketch it. You’re in awe at the attention to detail, from the way you hold your head a little bit to the right and how your hands are clasped together behind your head.

“They’re… they’re amazing,” you say, a bit breathless. “I love them.”

“I draw a lot of people and when I saw you, I just knew I had to draw you. I hope I captured your fire,” he says, looking up at you.

“You and your obsession with my fire,” you say. You’re feeling a bit hot and you press the back of your hand against your forehead, wiping the sweat away that's not even really there. Steve takes the drawings from you and you’re sad to see how he puts them back in his desk. There’s something about knowing that he looked at you with the intention to put you on paper, to make you utterly his, to be able to see you again and again. It’s intimate.

He comes back to you again, sitting down next to you, studying you. “How are you feeling now?”

“Still a bit strange. I don’t… I don’t really know what happened to me. I just felt really… really suffocated. Suddenly.”

“Has that happened before?”

“Not this exact feeling, but I’ve been a bit of a mess since my parent’s death and…” you trail off, realizing what you’ve just admitted.

“Go on.”

You scoff. “Go on? Don’t say that!”

“Y/N, it’s alright to admit that your parent’s death had an effect on you!” he exclaims, rubbing his temples. “Listen, if we’re going to make this life together work, you have to talk to me, you have to be honest. I want you to be yourself around me, can’t you understand that? We’ve been talking a lot, but you still haven’t really shown me your true self. You’ve been hiding.”

“I haven’t been hiding anything!”

He groans. “Wrong choice of words. But you know what I mean.”

‘No, I don’t know what you mean! I don’t know what you want from me!” you say, standing up, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Tell me how you’re really doing. Tell me about the ugly things.”

“I don’t want to. I don’t want to tell you everything.”

Steve bites his lip. “Y/N… I’m not asking you to tell me your deepest secrets. But I’m going to be your husband.”

There it is again, the feeling of being suffocated. You feel like the walls are closing around you. You know Steve’s just trying to talk to you, but you can’t. Not at the moment. If only you had your mother or your father here. If only they could comfort you, if only they could tell you that you’re making the right choice. If only…

You close your eyes. “I know that.”

“I want to be a good husband to you and that can only happen if I know who you really are. That means you can’t just shut yourself off from me every time you talk about what happened. I know that it really scared you. I know that you were incredibly unwell for months.”

“Who told you that?” you snap.

“Your brother. He sent me a letter, warning me, telling me I should treat you well and that you were… fragile. He explained that you didn’t get out of bed for a long time.”

“That piece of…”

“He was looking out for your wellbeing,” Steve says. “That’s what brothers do. It was good for me to know because I could make sure you didn’t fall back in that dark hole again. Believe me, I know what… trauma… feels like, what it can do to a person.”

“Trauma… I don’t have trauma.”

“You saw your parents die. You weren’t safe in your own castle. You could have died. Of course, that was traumatizing,” Steve says. “Just like seeing men die during battles, holding them as they died was traumatizing for me.”

“I’ll get better. This is just… nerves before the wedding. It’s just a big step, that’s all.”

Steve stands up, cupping your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. “Are you still sure that you want to do this?”

You swallow thickly. “Yes.”

Steve doesn’t let you go. He’s close, not so close that your noses are touching, but still close. You immediately remember that dream and you feel your face heating up. There’s a little voice inside you who’s asking if his lips will be as soft as they were in the dream. You’ve only ever felt his lips against your cheek or your hand. Suddenly the only thing you can think of is, is his beard against your skin and his smell, just surrounding you.

“You should rest,” Steve says. “You just got all red and you still feel a bit feverish. I think you’re coming down with something. If you want, I can get the healer?’

“No need,” you say. He takes his hands off your cheeks and you feel like you can breathe again. “I’ll just sit down. I’m too jittery to sleep.”

So, you sit down in one of Steve’s chairs. He rushes to find you a footstool and then puts on the fire in the fireplace. You listen to the sounds of the fire and slowly feel the warmth washing over you. While the weather is quite nice throughout the day, in the evening it can get a little bit cold, especially in this palace. You watch as Steve pokes in the fire with a poker and you sigh. It’s homely.

He looks up at you. “All right?”

“All right,” you confirm.

“I’m sorry I pushed you into talking about…it… with me. I just want to help.”

“I know.”

“If you don’t want to talk about your parent’s death… Can you at least tell me what made you feel so strange suddenly? Was it something someone said or something?”

“I don’t know… I… it was probably the letter.”

“Letter?” Steve asks.

“Natasha sent me a letter. She’s not coming to the wedding. She… she’s not really up to seeing me get married to someone else,” you say, feeling that horrid lump forming again in your throat.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. “You were counting on her presence, right?”

“Yes. I didn’t even consider that she would be uncomfortable and… God, I just really want her there. I don’t want to lose her.”

“You’re not going to lose her.”

“This just feels like the beginning. She’ll visit me, but she’ll only come two or three times a year and then slowly we’ll grow apart, and we’ll just be strangers. And… we grew up together. I love her. I don’t want her to be just another face in the crowd.”

“You’re in total control of that, you know that, right?” Steve asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you can try and maintain your friendship with her, but if she doesn’t want to or if she finds it too painful, then that’s her choice. It has to come from both sides.”

“I know that,” you whisper. You really do. But how can you try and maintain your friendship with Natasha when you’re so far away from her when all you can do is send letters and not write about your life here because you don’t want her to get hurt. You hate this. You hate, like Steve says, not being in control. Before your parent’s died, you hated how your mother was always so rigid and wanted a strict schedule. You longed for freedom. But now, now you know why. Because being in control is terrifying. Bad things… incredibly bad things happen when you’re not in control.

Steve gets you another glass of water. “You have to stay hydrated.”

You nod, absentmindedly.

He notices and sits down in the chair next to you. “Hey. Tell me about the wedding dress.”

You frown at him. “What?”

“Well, how did it all end with the dressmaker? I vividly remember Darcy coming to me and complaining about her for an hour.”

You laugh, momentarily distracted from your anxiety. And so, you tell Steve about the dress. You try to not reveal the fine details about the dress, knowing its tradition that the groom doesn’t know anything about the dress, but you do tell Steve about the sarcasm battle between Darcy and the dressmaker. He laughs loudly and it sets you at ease somehow. The rest of the evening is spent complaining about the wedding preparations, making fun of people and speculating about the crazy things that will happen at the wedding reception. Steve has met a lot more royals than you have, and he tells you he already knows who will get into an argument with who.

“We’ll have to dance,” you say, suppressing a yawn.

“I’ll try not to step on your toes.”

“I bet you’re a good dancer, you’re just saying that to be humble,” you murmur.

“I’m a horrible dancer, that’s the truth.”

“Sure, Mr. It’s Not Really That Good,” you tease. You listen to Steve chuckling and it feels like something starts glowing in your chest. It’s a strange experience. You just lie there, feeling that warmth spread throughout your body.

Steve starts defending himself, saying that there are much more talented painters than him out there. He talks about his birthday gift when he was a young boy and got paint and brushes. You try to focus, but you’re suddenly so tired and comfy that you just can’t help drifting off.

* * *

 When you wake up, it’s morning and you’re lying on a bed that’s definitely not yours. You turn and press your nose against the pillow under your head. It smells like Steve.

You’re in his bed. That’s enough to freak you out.

You sit up, waiting for your eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness that the room is shrouded in. The fire has gone out, but you can hear the birds outside and see light peeking from underneath the curtains. Your shoes have been taken off and the dagger has been removed from your stocking. Your corset has also been loosened a bit, but nobody has taken off your dress. You press a hand against your hair that’s a tangled mess from sleeping with your hair in a complicated hairstyle.

Where is Steve? The sun has risen, so he’s probably already in the garden, but then you hear a soft snoring sound coming from the bathroom. You climb off the bed, a bit disoriented and walk towards the door. When you slowly open the door, it creaks and you’re greeted with the sight of Steve, sleeping in the bathtub with a blanket, an open book on his chest and a burned-out candle on the little table next to the tub.

“Steve?” you whisper, still a bit drowsy. “Steve? Steve, wake up!”

He opens his eyes, groaning and trying to sit up a bit. “Y/N?”

“Why are you in the bathtub?”

“I… was sleeping,” Steve says, rubbing his back.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. “You should have woken me up. That can’t be comfortable.”

“I’ve slept in more uncomfortable places.”

“I know… I know… you were a soldier. But you really shouldn’t have. You deserve a good night rest too.”

He smiles at you, a bit sadly. You walk over to him, noticing too late how a few buttons on your dress have popped open in your sleep and that he is now treated to a pretty good view of your breasts as you help him out of the tub. While he opens the blinds, you fix your dress, feeling yourself get a bit lightheaded.

“Did you sleep well?” Steve asks, turning around when you’re decent again.

“Your bed is very comfortable.”

“Good to hear,” Steve says. “You really needed to rest. Also, I had to take your dagger out of your… stocking… I was scared you would roll over in your sleep and accidentally stab yourself.” He hands it to you, the dagger cold against your skin. “I didn’t do anything indecent; I promise you.”

“I know you didn’t,” you say.

He looks at you, gratefully and you open your mouth to say something, what exactly you don’t really know, but then you hear the sound of a door opening and a woman humming a song. Steve walks to the door, pushing it open a little bit and then turning to you. “That’s my maid, Lilith. She probably thinks that I’m in the garden. She's going to do my laundry."

You sigh. “I need to go back to my own room.”

You know Lilith will probably have a heart attack when she sees you. You know how it looks. But you’ll just have to bite through it. You know nothing happened and that’s what matters. They can talk if they want to. So, you hold your head high when you leave the bathroom with Steve, ignoring the shocked look Lilith gives you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not all men. 
> 
> You're right, Steve Rogers would never do this to me.  
> (I know this meme is old, fight me)


	8. Chapter 8

You’re in your bathroom, untangling your hair when Darcy almost kicks open the door. You’ve already changed into a new dress and washed your face.

“Well, well, well,” she says, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “How was your night, sleeping beauty?”

“It was perfectly fine, thank you,” you say.

“You really did the walk of shame!?” Darcy asks. “So how, is Steve in bed?”

“I didn’t sleep with him,” you say, pulling on your brush.

“Really? Because I have a very trustworthy source saying that she saw the two of you naked in the bathroom.”

“Tell Lilith she shouldn’t tell lies. We were dressed,” you say, drily. “Believe me, don’t believe me. I didn’t sleep with him. Now, can you please help me with my hair?”

“Come on! Did you at least have some fun without doing the actual part? Like fingers or mouth stuff. I bet Steve is good at that,” Darcy says, enjoying the way you get all red. She takes a comb and starts at the tips of your hair. “Ooh, was it both at the same time?”

“Shut up, Darcy!”

* * *

Around lunchtime, everybody knows. The whole palace is buzzing, only falling silent when you’re near. Darcy, who’s been poking fun at you all morning, looks at you with a bit of concern when you go on your afternoon walk with her.

“I’ll tell Lilith off, next time I see her,” she promises.

You smile at her. She’s still annoying, but you’ve begun to see her as your friend, and you know she cares for you too. “It’s fine, Darcy. People are allowed to talk about whatever they want to.”

It does sting when you pass the kitchens and you hear a woman laugh and say: “That whore!”. You try to brush it off, comforting yourself with the thought that you know the truth. You didn’t sleep with him. You’re untouched and that’s all that matters. There isn’t any point in trying to convince everybody that nothing happened. When you walk away, you remember your mother when the whole court was abuzz with rumors that your father was having an affair.

“People will always talk,” she had said. “I know the truth. Sweetheart, you have to remember, you can’t do anything about it. Just keep your chin up and be the better person.”

You drink tea with a few other ladies. They’re all obviously dying to talk about _it_ , but they know better than to even mention it in your presence. Steve pops in to let you know he won’t be joining you for dinner, something’s come up. He presses a kiss on your head and reassuringly squeezes your shoulder. The ladies look at their teacups, thinking of something to say.

You take another walk, on your own, your dagger back in your stocking.

You eat dinner with Wanda, who doesn’t mention the gossip. You know she’s heard it, but she talks about her twin brother Pietro, who died a year ago.

After dinner, you force yourself to sit down behind your desk and write. You want that letter posted. You reread Natasha’s letter and groan loudly, running your fingers through your hair. Eventually, you make a start.

_Dearest Tasha,_

_I’m doing quite well. Pepper was right, the wedding planning is horrible, but now everything has been arranged I can spend my time doing things I actually like. Steve is a gentleman; he treats me with care and is a good friend to me._

_I miss you. I’m happy to hear that you’re busy with things. Training civilians sounds like a good idea. You taught me how to fight, I’m sure you’ll do great with the girls there._

_I’m sorry to hear that you’re not coming to my wedding. I really would have liked you there, but I understand why you can’t come. I really do hope we can keep our friendship alive, even though we’re many miles apart._

_Thank you for your well wishes. I look forward to your visit._

_Love,_

_Y/N_

It’s short and not very emotional. It doesn’t have the stuff in there that you really want to say. There’s no mention of your anxiety about the wedding, about the fact that you don’t really know what you feel for Steve. You can’t write about the gossiping here or that you’re terrified that when you see Natasha in real life it’ll be awkward. You can’t write about your nightmares. You can’t write anything.

You put the letter in an envelope. You’ll give it to someone tomorrow who will make sure the letter reaches Natasha. You cross your arms on the desk and put your head down, closing your eyes. You stay like that for what seems like hours, until Clint comes in with another cup of tea.

“Thought you would like this.”

You almost cry when he pats your head.

* * *

When Tony and Pepper arrive a few days later, there are already a lot of guests at the palace. Everybody’s busy, even Darcy, who also has to be the maid of a princess of Wakanda named Shuri who is staying in the room next to you. She keeps to herself most of the time, but Darcy is already very enthusiastic about her, telling you that she can’t wait until Lady Foster meets Shuri. Lady Foster is supposed to be back in America in time for the wedding, traveling with King Thor and his wife Brunnhilde. You’ve heard some stories about the Asgardian royals - your father was friends with Odin – but Darcy has told you the juicier stories.

“Thor and Jane courted,” she told you, laying down on your bed while you braided her hair. “Everybody thought they were going to marry; Queen Frigga was quite taken by Jane and even Odin voiced his approval. But something changed. Jane never even told me about it and that’s rude, I tell her everything! Now he’s married to Brunnhilde.”

“She’s the warrior woman, right?” you asked.

Darcy nodded. “She has joined Thor in battle many times. I’ve heard they’re not really in love, it’s just a marriage of convenience. But they’re a great team and Jane doesn’t seem that heartbroken about it.”

You’ve spent hours entertaining the guests. You’ve talked with Queens and Kings; you’ve had countless tea parties and given tours of the palace. You know the place quite well now and you’re always happy to show off Steve’s garden. But when you hear guards talking about opening the guests because a few carriages from the Stark kingdom has arrived, you drop everything and leave the Duchess you’ve been sitting with in the parlor behind.

While the gates are being opened, a wave of anxiety hits you. The last time you saw Tony and Pepper must have been a month ago. You’ve never been apart of them for that long and you wonder how it will be. Will your relationship with them have changed, just like yours with Natasha? Will the whole Natasha not coming thing be talked about? What if they’ve changed? You know they’ve been busy as the new King and Queen of the Stark Kingdom. What if _you’ve_ changed?

Finally, the carriages stop. You smile at the guards. You know some of their names, but you know each of their faces. You’ve started to get to know the guards here at the palace, but you doubt you’ll ever really get to know each of them. You grew up around the Stark guards. They saw you as a little girl with pigtails and then watched as you had your first ball. Even if you can’t name all of them, there will always be that shared history, that shared loyalty towards the Stark kingdom. They will lay down their lives to protect the crown and the people and so will you.

The door of the carriage opens and Tony steps out, saying something to Pepper who he helps get out. She’s fussing with her skirts. Both of them don’t look too different. You notice Tony is starting to grow a beard and he looks a bit older than the last time. The crown has changed him. Pepper looks as perfect as ever, but her hair looks fuller and shinier, and she’s put on some weight. You have your suspicions, but you won’t say anything.

You just stand there, not really sure if you have to walk over to them and bow to them. You’re still just a Princess and they are your King and Queen. But then Tony notices you, standing there, a little bit lost, and he runs over to you, pulling you in a bear hug.

“Tony!” you gasp as the breath is knocked out your lungs. “Ah!”

“Well, well, if it isn’t the blushing bride. You look good,” Tony says as he finally lets you go. “A bit skinny. You should eat some more.”

“Yes, _mother_ ,” you groan. Then, you smile. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

“Likewise. We got you letters, but still, I worried,” Tony says. “Pepper’s been beating me up about that.”

“I’ve told him over and over that you can take care of yourself, but he just doesn’t listen,” Pepper says, pulling you towards her and pressing a kiss on your cheek. “Hey, Y/N.”

“He’s a stubborn little man,” you say.

“Don’t start ganging up on me now!” Tony exclaims. While Pepper orders you to spin around in your new dress, he looks around. “I’m a bit offended.”

“What?” you ask.

“Where’s my future brother-in-law? I was expecting him to grovel at my feet. I am the Stark king, remember.”

“Oh, I don’t think Steve’s been notified you’re here. He would have been here otherwise. He greets every guest,” you say. You turn to one of the guards. “Can you go and see where King Rogers is?”

The guard nods, leaving.

“Ooh, _Steve_ ,” Tony says mockingly.

Pepper slaps him on the chest. “Tony!”

“Very funny,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

Tony puts his arm around you, pulling you against his side, as you walk inside. Behind you, servants are already getting the baggage inside and the carriages are driven away. It doesn’t matter. Your family is here and that’s what’s important.

Pepper is visibly impressed as she enters the courtyard. You chuckle. “Nice?”

“More than nice,” she says. “I’m sorry that Natasha…couldn’t really come.”

“It’s fine,” you say. “We wrote to each other. It’s all settled.”

Tony squeezes your shoulder. “Well, we’re here and we’re ready to party. And off course, behave when it’s absolutely necessary.”

“You’re terrible!” you squeal, and he laughs loudly.

The unspoken thing stays unspoken: your parents. They should be here. Your mother should be here, making comments about every little thing and your father should be here, giving you a pat on your head. But they’re not. They will never be here. They won’t be here when you walk down the aisle, they won’t be here when you bear sons. They’re gone and it hurts, even more on the big days like these.

When Steve arrives, something flutters in your stomach. You watch on as he and Tony shake hands and make some polite small talk. Pepper immediately sets Steve on ease – you can literally see the tension leaving his shoulders when she cracks a joke about the journey and how Tony kept on snoring. Tony playfully pushes her, and Steve assures her that Tony will sleep much better on the bed in the guest room that’s already been set up for them.

“So, I hope you've been treating my little sister right,” Tony says, glaring at Steve.

There it is.

“I’ve done nothing unbecoming,” Steve promises. “She’s been treated with the utmost respect. I hope she feels at home here.”

“I do,” you say, heat rushing to your cheeks as Steve looks at you with that gentle smile of his that drives you crazy.

“So, back off, Tony,” you warn him.

Tony holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Well, I just had to ask. It is my duty as Y/N’s older brother to make sure she’s being taken care of.”

When you all go inside the palace to find something to eat for Tony and Pepper, Steve’s hand rests on the small of your back.

* * *

Pepper gasps when she sees your wedding dress. It was delivered last night, and you haven’t dared to open the bag it came in. You still feel a bit of anxiety about the wedding and you didn’t think seeing your wedding dress was going to help with that.

“Is that a good or a bad gasp?” you ask, a bit nervously.

“It’s absolutely gorgeous! God, you’re going to look even better than me! Minx!” Pepper laughs. “Come on, Y/N, look at it.”

You force yourself to walk over to her and look at the dress. It _is_ beautiful. Elegant. Not too simple. Not too outrageous. A waistline that will look beautiful on you. Every little detail is perfect. You don’t like the dressmaker and you know she doesn’t like you either, but it’s clear she’s ignored all of that while making the dress. She’s put her heart and soul in this dress.

“Y/N! Are you all right?” Pepper asks and it’s only then that you realize that your eyes are filled with tears.

“It’s just a little bit overwhelming,” you say. “God, everything’s just going so fast.”

“Come on, let’s sit down,” Pepper says. She pushes you down on the chair next to the window and kneels down next to you, taking your hands in hers. “Oh, honey. Are you… unwell… again?”

“I’ve been doing better, really, it’s just so soon and I…”

“Are you having second thoughts? You were really enthusiastic about Steve in your letters, but were you telling the truth?”

You look at her, frowning.

“I don’t mean to call you a liar, but I know you. You’d lie if it meant keeping Tony from worrying,” Pepper says.

“Steve is wonderful. Really. I… I really like him. It’s just a big commitment. And I’m missing everybody. Mom. Dad. And you and Tony. And Natasha. God, I’m so stupid.”

“Don’t, don’t,” Pepper shushes you. “We’re here now. Your parents are here. Their spirits are here, at least that’s what I believe. And Natasha is here _in_ spirit. We’re here to support you. And to listen to you.”

You nod, wiping away your tears. “I’ve just been feeling off for about a week now. I talked to it about Steve and that helped but then I saw the dress and it all just came back.”

Pepper smiles. “Tell me about what you do with Steve.”

So, you do. You tell her about the gardening. About the way he paints, with such passion. About how he’s always looking after you. How he laughs. How much his mother loved him. How he’s going to plant rose bushes in memory of your mother. And that he’s drawn you. Pepper listens patiently and you feel yourself calming down while talking about Steve.

“Sounds like a great guy,” Pepper eventually says.

“He is. He really is.”

Pepper tells you some funny stories about the missteps she made as new Queen. You laugh with her but then freeze as you suddenly remember something.

Pepper notices. “What’s going on?”

“Oh god, I have to warn Tony before he hears the rumors.”

“What rumors?”

“I… I was talking to Steve at night and I fell asleep. He didn’t want to wake me up, so I slept in his bed and he slept in the bathtub. Nothing happened but try telling everybody that! So now everybody thinks I’ve slept with him and they’re talking… if Tony hears, he’ll kill Steve with his bare hands!”

“I’ll talk to him,” Pepper promises. “But did he really sleep in the bathtub?”

You nod. “What an idiot, right?”

“A gentlemanly idiot, that’s who he is!”

Both of you laugh. Yeah, Steve really is a gentlemanly idiot. You look at Pepper, who’s giggling, and you squeeze her hands. She squeezes back, reassuring she’s really there. That she’s got you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been really busy, some family is staying over and I've been feeling really tired lately, so that's my excuse for not posting earlier.  
> I'm not really happy with this chapter. I rewrote it over and over. I really struggled with this one. I can't even really say what was wrong, it just didn't feel right. This is better than the former versions, but I'm still not really satisfied.  
> Next chapter will be better, I promise.


	9. Chapter 9

Steve invites Tony and Pepper to eat with everybody in his dining room and you all arrive a bit early. Steve pours Pepper some wine, hands you your glass of water with a wink and then talks a bit to Tony about business. You sit down already and greet Wanda when she enters. Scott Lang also comes in and shakes hands with Tony, looking like he’s going to faint. You’ve gotten used to it. You’ve met Scott a few times. He’s in awe of Steve and still refuses to call you Y/N. He’s a sweet guy. Bucky and Sam won’t be joining tonight, so everybody’s just waiting for Clint.

The look on Tony’s face when Clint arrives is so comical you and Pepper both burst into laughter. Everybody settles down as dinner is served.

“Natasha Romanov told me about you,” Pepper says to Wanda while she folds her napkin. “You’re from Sokovia, right?”

“That’s correct, your Majesty,” Wanda answers.

“Please, call me Pepper.”

Clint sits down next to you. “So, you happy?”

“I’m happy,” you reassure him. “I won’t be needing any tea tonight, I think.”

“Well, if you change your mind, just knock on my door. Can’t have you walking down the aisle with bags under your eyes.”

You sit back, relax and eat your chicken. Tony and Clint talk. Clint has to explain everything about the way he fights in battle. Clint’s not intimidated by Tony, though, and fires back his own questions. Scott and Steve talk briefly, but most of the time Steve just eats, silently. That’s not a very strange occurrence, but there’s something about the way he sits that makes you wonder what’s wrong.

When dessert is served and Steve stands up, walking to the window to look outside, you pick up your dessert wine and walk over to him. Nobody notices, everybody is way too wrapped up in their own conversations.

“You all right?” you ask, putting your hand on Steve’s shoulder.

He turns around. “Yes. Just tired, that’s all.”

You know there’s more going on, but you don’t want to pressure him into talking about it. You just hope he knows you’re there, to listen to him. You squeeze his shoulder gently and look out the window, admiring the starry night sky.

* * *

You dream of your wedding day. Well, the end of your wedding day. You’re wearing the gown and you’re sitting next to Steve at the head of the big table in the hall. All the guests are there. They’re eating, drinking, laughing. Everybody’s having fun, but you’re tense. You know what’s coming.

Steve takes your hand in his. “Come on, let’s go.”

You let him pull you along, wanting nothing more than to stay seated at that table forever. While he leads you out of the hall people start cheering. You pass Pepper, who’s eating dessert. She whoops when she sees you and Tony, who’s sitting next to her, laughs loudly. You want to tell them to stop, but Steve’s pulling you along, so roughly that you don’t have a choice but to go with him.

You want to tell him to stop, that he’s hurting you, but you can’t open your mouth. Before you know it, you’re in Steve’s bedroom and you’re standing in front of the mirror, staring at the space between your nose where your mouth used to be. You can’t say anything. You’re helpless.

Steve doesn’t notice. He’s tugging on the dress. You bat away his hands, trying to make a noise, any noise, but it’s impossible. Steve’s starting to get annoyed at you fighting him and now he’s really using all of his strength. You’re on the floor and he’s on top of you, tearing your pretty dress to pieces. You can’t scream, you can’t breathe… oh god, you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe!

“Y/N! Y/N!”

You’re awoken by someone shaking you and you only scream louder. Whoever it is presses his hand against your mouth.

“Calm down, Y/N. It’s me, Clint. Breathe. Good girl, slowly. Breathe.”

You wait until your eyes are adjusted to the darkness. It’s indeed Clint in his sleeping clothes. As soon as he realizes you’ve calmed down, he takes his hand off your mouth but doesn’t stop rubbing your back. He must have noticed how your nightgown is soaked in sweat.

“Want to rewrite it?” Clint asks.

You shake your head. You don’t want to think about Steve on top of you, trying to get you naked, not even caring that you’re choking to death underneath him. You want that image out of your head, fast.

“Was this another nightmare about your parents?” Clint asks.

You shake your head. “It… it’s… I don’t really… it was stupid.”

“Nightmares are always stupid,” Clint agrees.

“Steve would never hurt me but it just… felt so real.”

“How was he hurting you?”

“It was after the wedding and he…” you swallow thickly, heat rushing to your cheeks. Clint nods, knowing what you mean.

“So, you’re worried about the wedding night.”

“About everything. And that. I just don’t really know what to expect. I’ve tried to not think about it and now it’s just coming at me in my dreams.”

You shouldn’t be talking about this. Certainly not with a man, while you’re in bed and in your sleeping clothes. But it’s Clint. You trust him. He’s not going to make fun of you or take advantage of you.

“Well, I… I’m not really an expert at it all and I don’t really know what to say to you to make everything better… but I know… it… can be a really great and fun experience. Trust me on that.”

You giggle, wiping away some tears.

Clint continues. “You said it yourself. Steve would never hurt you. He likes you and cares for you. Nightmares are just pesky things that take your worst fears and spin it all, so it feels like it’s real, but it’s not. You know that.”

You nod quickly.

“Hope that helps,” Clint says. “I’m not the best at comforting people with nightmares. My kids have nightmares but Laura handles that.”

“You’re all right,” you say, sniffing a bit. “Thank you for waking me up.”

“Don’t mention it.”

* * *

In the garden, you help Steve with planting a tree. He digs the hole and you stand next to him, waiting until you get to plant the tree. He’s silent this morning too and you’re racking your brain for things to say to him to get him to talk when he breaks the silence.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you something, but I keep forgetting it. Have you seen the royal portraits in the palace?” Steve asks.

You remember Steve’s portrait. The young boyish Steve. You smile softly, nodding. “Yes, I’ve seen them.”

“Well, in just two days you’ll be crowned Queen of America and soon we’ll have your royal portrait hanging there too. It’s time for you to start working on your portrait. It’s a tradition for each royal to pick their own painter, so I was wondering if you have a painter from the Stark Kingdom you might want to ask to do the job?”

Back home there was a woman who painted your parents’ royal paintings, but she died a year ago. You didn’t really like her. When you were young, she once came over to paint a little portrait of your mother for your father’s birthday and you had watched as she had painted. You had lost your balance and fallen against the easel, almost causing the portrait to fall over. She had lost her cool and had yelled at you, telling you to get lost. Your mother hadn’t said anything.

“I…” you purse your lips. “I don’t really know anyone. Do we have good painters here?”

“Well, the painter who made mine is definitely available. He’s a nice man. Taught me some great techniques,” Steve rambles on as he puts down the shovel. “Come on, let’s plant the tree.”

While you help him, silently thanking Darcy for the gardening gloves she got you, you think of the drawings Steve made of you. The moment you saw those sketches you immediately knew it was you. Not only because he had drawn you in clear detail, paying attention to every blemish and curve, but also because his sketches radiated something utterly you. The woman on those pages was familiar. It was like looking in the mirror. It was right.

Remembering this, you gather up the courage to ask him. “Will you be willing to do it?”

“Do what?”

“Paint me. I mean… if you don’t want to, you don’t have to, but I really liked those drawings you made of me. I would really like it if you made my portrait.”

He looks up at you, his hair all messy and a few beads of sweat on his forehead. “Are you sure you want me to do that? You trust me?”

“Of course.”

While Steve puts some of the earth back, you go and find a watering can. You water a bit, trying not to notice the way Steve is staring at you. Eventually, it’s beginning to get weird, so you turn your head towards him. “What?”

“Nothing. I’ll… I’ll do it. I’ll paint your portrait,” he says, stroking his beard.

* * *

You eat lunch with Pepper. Now that you’re having a conversation with her where you’re not crying, you can pay some more attention to discreetly looking at her waist. She has definitely put on some weight and you’re leaning towards the idea that she’s pregnant, but it also could just be that she’s just gained weight. You can’t really ask about it – you know the etiquette – but god, you want to.

Eventually, Pepper brings Natasha up. She talks about what Tasha has been up to and then she leans down to grab her little bag that she’s put down next to her chair. There’s a little package in it that she hands over to you.

“Natasha told me to give you this.”

You open it. It’s been wrapped by Natasha herself; you can tell by the way she has folded every little thing perfectly. Natasha is a perfectionist and she’s put her time into this package. Inside there’s a little note and a necklace.

You read the note first.

_I love you, I’m proud of you and I wish you the best._

_Tasha_

You hold up the necklace and immediately recognize it. Natasha owned two necklaces, the one with the arrow that she always wore and this one. It’s a delicate thing with a daisy made of gold as a pendant. She showed it to you once or twice, telling you that she was saving it to give it to someone special.

You never thought you would be that person.

“Do you want me to help you put it on?” Pepper offers and you nod. She stands up and gently puts it on you. The pendant feels cold between your collarbones.

“It’s gorgeous,” Pepper whispers. “God, now my gift is definitely paling in comparison.”

“Pepper…”

“I can’t really call it my gift. Tony got you a gift that’s from the both of us and you’ll get that on your wedding day, but I wanted to give you something that your mother gave to me before the wedding,” Pepper says, sitting down again. “It’s a little booklet with marriage advice. She said she got it when she was a young woman and specifically told me to be careful with it because she wanted to give it to you. So… it’s a gift from your mother.”

She hands over the booklet. It’s old, you can see that. It’s illustrated and on the cover, there’s a couple in beautiful clothing. The title has faded and so has most of the cover, but it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that your mother wanted you to have this.

“Thank you, Pepper, for remembering,” you say, stroking the cover. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“Hey, you’re my sister! Anything for you,” Pepper says.

You finish lunch and Pepper excuses herself to go and find Tony before he gets into trouble. You return to your room and curl up on the bed, looking through the booklet. The letters and the language are so incredibly old fashioned and some of the advice makes you laugh, but there are some things that you find interesting. Especially the one page with advice for the wedding night.

You’re a bit freaked out by the mention of having a towel nearby for bleeding and the quite crude wording of the fact that no man wants an ‘experienced’ woman makes you scoff, but there is some good advice. Eventually, you stop reading and just close your eyes and imagine a different reality where your mother got to hand you this herself in person. A reality where she got to laugh with you at the absurd advice and then tell you how marriage really works.

You’re pulled out of your daydreams by the sound of knocking on your door.

“Come in!” you yell, pushing the booklet under your pillow. You don’t want to get caught by Darcy with the stupid thing. You’ll never hear the end of it.

It’s Steve.

“Just wanted to ask you if you’re free tonight so we can start on your portrait.”

You nod, pushing some strands of hair between your ear. “Yes, I’m… I’m free. I’m having dinner with Pepper and Tony and then I’ll come to your room.”

“Sure. See you then,” Steve says. “Wear a pretty dress!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we go! We're getting pretty close to the wedding, next chapter will go over the day and the night before the wedding and then we'll see them getting married in chapter eleven if everything goes according to my outline.  
> I'm not planning to drag this story on endlessly, but there will be more chapters. I'm still figuring out the exact details of the ending, but I have some interesting ideas ;)


	10. Chapter 10

After dinner, you go and change in a more suitable dress for a royal portrait. The moment Steve told you to wear a pretty dress, your mind went to the purple one. It was made for you a year ago for some kind of special event. It’s an outrageous dress, definitely not suited for a normal day, but fit for a Queen. It’s big and does wonders for your bust. The neckline is decent but still teasing. While you put the dress on you remember how Tasha reacted when she saw you in it.

_“Damn, Stark, you look good enough to eat!”_

You put Natasha’s necklace on and work on your hair. You decide to put it up, but not in a frigid hairstyle. It has to look effortless. A few locks frame your face and you look in the mirror, pinching your cheeks. You look good.

* * *

Steve turns red when he opens the door for you. His beard manages to hide a lot of it, but not everything. It’s cute. He manages to pull himself together and lets you in. He’s gotten everything ready. There’s a fire smoldering and there’s a blank canvas on his easel. In front of it is a stool and next to the stool, a case.

“What’s in there?” you ask.

“The tiara. It’s a royal portrait of you as Queen. You’ll be wearing the Queen’s tiara.”

He helps you on the stool which is quite an endeavor with the big skirt. He gently puts the tiara on your head, careful not to ruin your hairdo. You’ve only gotten to see the tiara for a moment, but you’ve seen it before in the paintings and on your tour of the palace. You were taken to the treasury where you got to admire it. It’s not very heavy, but you know how expensive it is and how important it is and that makes it heavy in your mind.

“I’m just going to make an outline tonight. The actual painting will come later,” Steve explains as he goes to sit behind his easel.

You want to nod or say something but you’re so worried that even the tiniest movement will cause the tiara to fall off your head, so you stay silent. You watch as Steve gets some graphite and starts sketching. It’s silent in the room, not counting the sounds of the fire and the graphite against the canvas. You keep your chin up, trying to look as regal as possible while not moving even an inch.

“You can breathe,” Steve reassures you.

You relax a bit. Time seems to drag by, and you doze off, thinking about the booklet. “Always obey your husband. Never make him doubt your submission.” Submission. God, it’s good that Natasha never got to read that sentence. She would have thrown up. You feel a little bit sickened by that line too. Submission. Sure, you’re going to listen to Steve, you’ll do as he says as long as it’s reasonable and you know that he’ll listen to you too. But being submissive to him sounds so incredibly wrong. You’re not his servant. You’re going to be his wife. You’ll sit on the throne next to him, not at his feet.

Right?

You look over to Steve who’s busy with his work. He looks at you sometimes, squinting his eyes and then he goes back to his canvas. The silence has become unbearable and to make the situation even more terrible, your nose has started itching. You want to sit still for Steve, but the itching is worsening with the minute. You keep your eyes focused on Steve, waiting for the moment he’s no longer looking at you but at the canvas and then you scratch your nose, sagging with relief when the itch is no longer there.

You hear him laugh softly.

“What? I’m human. My nose gets itchy,” you defend yourself.

“It was just funny.”

“Enjoying this, Rogers?” you joke.

“Immensely.” He tries to make his voice sound like he’s teasing you back, but you know he’s telling the truth. He likes this, being in one room with you, just like you enjoy being in one room with him. He laughs again and you laugh too, forgetting about the tiara on your head for a moment. You can see this work. You can almost see the outlines of a marriage between you and him. You can see yourself with this man. As his wife, his equal.

“So, how is the outline coming along?” you ask, wiping away some tears from laughing.

“Pretty good. You look great,” Steve answers, a bit more serious now.

You wonder what it looks like. It’s something that has always fascinated you. What do you look like from the point of view of others? When other people can only see the outside, what do they think of you? Do they notice the little imperfections that you’ve spend hours worrying about or do they see something in you that you’ve never noticed before? You once asked your father what you looked like. He pulled you on his lap, ruffling your hair.

“You look like you, sweetheart,” he had answered. “You always look like you.”

But is that enough? Looking like you? Are you enough?

“Can I look later?” you ask Steve.

“You can look right now,” he says. He walks over to you, taking the tiara off your head. You exhale as he helps you off the stool and takes you over to the canvas.

It’s you. It’s unmistakably you. And it’s gorgeous. The woman, the you, that’s sitting there is at ease. She’s smiling with a look in her eyes that you can only call wonder. Your hair looks playful, the tiara on your head doesn’t seem strange at all, it’s like you walk around every day with that cursed thing on your head. And the dress, it’s wonderful. You’ve made the right choice, asking Steve to make your royal portrait.

“So, what do you think?” Steve asks, almost nervously.

You grin. “You’re amazing.”

* * *

The next day around noon you’re standing in the big hall, watching as preparations are made for the wedding. Every time you think about the wedding taking place tomorrow your stomach churns. You’ve been busy all morning, skipping the gardening with Steve to have an early breakfast with Queen Gamora and her sister Lady Nebula. They both arrived last night, and Coulson had come to tell you that you needed to spend some time with them. The alliance between their kingdom and the kingdom of America is shaky, so you did your best to be an attentive listener while the two sisters bickered. Then you had to visit some of the other royal guests, go through the whole schedule with Clint one more time and then you were pushed in a chair so the hairdresser could experiment some more with your hair before the big day. Now, you’re just relieved to not be touched, prodded or chattered to, more than content to just watch the people set up the chairs.

“That looks good,” you hear someone say behind you.

You smile. “Mmh. I’m grateful for your approval, brother dearest.”

Tony laughs, wrapping his arms around you from behind. “So, soon to be Mrs. Rogers, want to go and do something fun?”

“Is it an illegal kind of fun?”

“Not illegal. Frowned upon, though.”

Before you know it, you’re with Tony in his guest room, kneeling in front of his window. He’s got the perfect view into the courtyard which is exactly what you need for this game. You’ve played it with Tony so many times when you were little, when both of you didn’t have any worries. You’ve gotten the bowl of cherries and it’s now placed on your lap.

Tony goes first, taking a cherry in his hand and waiting for an unsuspecting servant to walk by before throwing the cherry. He’s still as skilled at it as when he was seven and you giggle loudly as he ducks to not be seen.

“That was ten points,” Tony whispers. “I’m so going to beat you.”

You take a cherry, peeking out of the window to see that the servant has left, probably confused why he got hit by a frigging cherry. You wait a bit, remembering why you like this game. The thrill of getting caught is amazing and now even more so. You can only imagine the gossip if you, the future Queen of America, got caught throwing cherries.

A maid carrying a basket of laundry walks by, humming some song. You throw the cherry, hitting her against the waist. She almost drops the basket, looking around for the culprit. You duck, trying to smother your laughing.

“Five points! Come on, you can do better!” Tony says.

“I kind of feel bad,” you whisper. “We’re throwing cherries at people who are just doing their jobs. But it’s also so funny.”

“Dad always got mad at us doing this,” Tony says, taking a cherry from the bowl and popping it in his mouth.

“Mom too. And my governess. She would go crazy,” you remember. “But we kept doing it anyway.”

“Our little rebellion… they weren’t always the best parents… well, I do realize why they were so overprotective, we were royal children, but still, I would have liked a few more liberties,” Tony sighs. “I want to do better with my baby.”

You smirk. “Your baby, huh?”

Tony looks up at you, slowly turning red the moment he realizes he’s said too much. “Come on, like you haven’t noticed Pepper’s gotten… heavier. You’re just too polite to ask.”

“Gotten heavier? If Pepper heard that, you’d be a dead man,” you tease him. “So, she’s really pregnant? I’m going to be an aunt?”

Tony nods. “We’re keeping it a secret, as soon as she really starts showing we’ll make an announcement.”

“So, are you hoping for a boy or a girl?” you ask, not able to stop smiling.

“A girl. I had a dream about us having a daughter. It felt so incredibly real. I know I’m not supposed to have a preference, but I would just like to have a girl to spoil,” Tony says. He looks so different. Older, softer, happier. You reach over to ruffle his hair, making him glare at you.

“You’re going to be an amazing father,” you tell him. “You’ve really got it all now.”

“What?”

“You’re the King of the Stark Kingdom. You have a beautiful wife and she’s pregnant. You’ve got the life that you’ve always wanted,” you say. “Don’t laugh! I know you always pretend that you’re this intimidating guy, but I’m your baby sister and I know who you really are.”

“Yeah… yeah…” Tony muttered. “Oh god.”

“What?”

“I just realized that Rogers will be my kid’s uncle. Good lord,” Tony said, his eyes wide in alarm. “Poor kid.”

“Come on, Steve’s not that bad!”

“Sure. Sure.”

You put down the bowl with cherries and curl up next to Tony, putting your head on his shoulder. Outside you can hear someone cursing, calling out for a stable boy to get here immediately or else… but you don’t care. You’re just sitting here with your brother and that’s what matters. He puts an arm around you and chuckles softly.

“What are you laughing about?” you ask him.

“Nothing.”

You close your eyes and breathe in and out, enjoying the moment of peace.

“Tony? Do you think that marrying Steve…? I don’t know, do you think that I’m doing the right thing?”

Tony rubs his hand over your arm, pulling you closer. “If you don’t want to do it, I can call it off. I would never force you to go through with anything you don’t want to do.”

“I’m going to do it, Tony, I just… I wish you supported me more. I know you don’t like Steve and…”

“Hey, I am supporting you. It’s just hard because I feel like you’re only marrying this guy because the Stark Kingdom isn’t strong enough.”

“It’s a good alliance,” you sigh. “And Steve is a great man. I like him. I just wish you would be proud of me.”

Tony presses a kiss on your temple. “I _am_ proud of you. More than anything. You are so incredibly brave, Y/N. Dad and mom would be proud. Everybody’s proud of you.”

A lump starts to form in your throat, and you close your eyes again, trying to push the upcoming tears away.

“Look, I don’t know Steve that well. I’m sure he’s decent. It’s my duty as a brother to keep my eye on him, all right, intimidate him a bit. Make sure he doesn’t even think about laying a finger on you. I trust you. If you want to do this, then we’re doing this. And if you don’t want to do it, I’ll get you out of here. Always. I’m always there for you. Whenever, wherever you are. You need help, I’ll be there.”

You bury your face in the space between his neck and shoulder, fighting the tears but failing miserably. And that’s how Pepper finds the two of you, sitting underneath a window with a bowl of cherries next to you, both silently crying.

* * *

Underwater everything seems to come to a stop. You can’t stay under for long, you’re quickly running out of air, but it’s fun to open your eyes and see how your limbs look so incredibly different. When you’re starting to feel lightheaded, you jump up, gasping for breath, making some of the water in the tub splash on the floor.

After dinner on your own, you decided to take a bath. You probably should have gotten Darcy to help you, but you didn’t really want to. You’re a woman. You can take a bath by yourself. You shampoo your own hair, looking at the sunset through the window.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow you’re going to marry Steve. Tomorrow you’re going to promise that you’ll be his for your entire life. You study your bare arms, your fingers, the knuckles, everything. You use your right hand to stroke over the skin of your left arm, admiring the way your skin feels. Tomorrow, Steve will see you naked. Tomorrow he’s going to sleep with you. You’re still nervous about that and your nightmares, but a little part of you is also curious. You’ve never done it before, and you wonder what it’ll be like. To do something so intimate with Steve.

The sheets. You think about the sheets, about Lilith coming in the next morning, changing them and then talking about it with the other servants. The thought makes your stomach churn. You know its tradition, to talk about the blood on the sheet, but it’s just so disgusting. You don’t want to bleed. You don’t want to hurt. And you don’t want those women who call you a whore for sleeping in Steve’s bed before marriage to see that sheet, to touch that sheet or even to talk about it.

“Sleeping Beauty?”

You shriek, your heart almost beating out of your chest. It’s only Darcy, standing in the door opening with an expression on her face that you can only describe as a mixture of awe and horror.

“What?” you snap at Darcy when she doesn’t say anything else.

“Nothing. Just remind me to never get on your bad side,” Darcy sighs, sitting down on the stool next to the chair. “Damn, girl.”

You frown. “What in the heavens are you talking about?”

“Lilith, of course. Thought she was just sick or something,” Darcy mutters. “Turns out you went full on crazy on her. Amazing.”

“Lilith? What happened?”

Darcy chuckles. “You’re pretending you don’t know anything about it? She got fired. Like, a day ago or something. I was looking for her and her roommate told me she had an hour to get her stuff and was then sent away back home. The harsh approach! It’ll take me some time to forgive you for sending away my gossip pal…”

“I didn’t have anything to do with that! I didn’t know she got fired!” you say, leaning over the side of the tub. “Seriously, Darcy.”

“Who got her fired then?”

You ponder that question for a few seconds before Darcy lets out a gasp. “Damn! Good old Steve really does love you.”

Before you can say anything, Darcy’s out of the bathroom to pour herself a cup of tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter... the wedding!!! AAH!  
> Also, I changed the rating to mature just in case, especially since we've got a wedding night coming.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop, whoop, wedding part one!

You wake up from the sun shining in your face and the sound of giggling coming from the little dining room. Groggily, you sit up, blinking against the harsh light and trying to figure out who the hell broke in your room on your wedding day.

You haven’t slept well at all. You just kept on thinking about the big day, then you had a quick nightmare and then you just ended up sitting on your bed for a few hours in a state that you can’t describe as sleeping but also not as being awake. You guess you eventually fell asleep and got a few hours. It doesn’t matter. The adrenaline will keep you awake.

Pepper steps out of the room, carrying a plate with breakfast. “Oh, good, you’re up. Good morning, Y/N.”

“Good morning,” you say, yawning. Pepper puts the plate on your lap and then jumps on the bed, sitting down against the pile of pillows next to you.

“Bad night, I take it?”

“Mmh. It’s fine,” you say, taking a sip from the tea. “Who else is in there?”

“Oh, your maid, Darcy. She’s doing some tailoring to my dress. I’ve gotten a bit too large around the waist for it to fit perfect, but she assures me she can fix it,” Pepper says.

Darcy appears in the door opening, holding a maroon dress. “Yes, Sleeping Beauty, I have many hidden talents.”

“I didn’t think you had the patience for sewing,” you say, preparing your toast.

“I have patience whenever I want to have patience. That doesn’t happen often, but I like sewing,” Darcy says. “So, ready to get Steve on top of you?”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. “Darcy!”

“What, I could have said it much cruder! Like, excited to get that-”

“We get it, we get it,” Pepper interrupts her.

“Prudish princesses,” Darcy mutters as she goes back to her work.

“She does know that I’m a Queen, right?” Pepper asks you. You chuckle as you take a bite from your toast. Pepper smiles softly, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. “So, the big day is finally here. Was the pamphlet helpful?”

“It was a bit weird,” you blurt out.

“I know. That’s not what marriage’s like, at all,” Pepper says. “Honestly, don’t get all worked up because of what’s in there. You’ll figure it out. Just talk to him. Don’t hide. Open yourself up to him and I can see this marriage working perfectly fine. I’ve talked to him, he’s a nice man.”

You nod, taking another sip of your tea to wash away the toast.

You have time enough. The wedding takes place after lunch, so you spend the morning by taking another bath, listening to Pepper and Darcy talk, hearing Darcy tear the advice from the pamphlet into shreds and much more. Pepper goes to get some snacks. You try to eat a bit, but you’re not really hungry. You’ve never been much of an eater when you’re stressed.

Tony drops by, giving you a report. People who live inside America are arriving now and it’s busy downstairs. People are settling in and the servants are busy serving drinks. The table for the gifts is already piled up and the hall where the ceremony will take place is ready. Then it’s time for lunch and Tony is shooed away, but not before he gets a kiss from Pepper. You barely get the chance to eat some of the chicken broth, before you know it the hairdresser is there. Pepper’s dress is ready and that means it’s time for you to get into yours. While the hairdresser starts working on the complicated hairdo, Pepper and Darcy force you into the stupid thing, buttoning you up. You slip on the shoes and look at yourself in the mirror. It’s a whole different dress now you’re wearing it. It looks so much better. You almost don’t recognize yourself. It’s a different woman in that mirror, a pretty woman who’s getting married, a confident woman. A woman who doesn’t feel like she’s going to faint any minute now.

You put Natasha’s necklace on. You pray with Pepper and then admire the hairdo. The woman has put it up in a complicated way and you look so much older, in a good way. Pepper excuses herself to get something from her room and so you’re left alone with Darcy who takes her time torturing you by wondering out loud about how Steve is in bed. You’re saved when Pepper returns with the Stark tiara. You’ve only worn it once or twice and you’ll have to take it off later today to wear the American tiara, but now you just look at yourself in the mirror, wearing the tiara all the women in your family have worn. 

When everything’s done, you still have some more time. Pepper and Darcy have nothing more to talk about. Everybody just sits there, waiting for the moment a guard comes and gets you. You start tapping your nails on the armrests of your chair, wanting to bite them. A bad habit. You can already hear your mother’s voice, scolding you for doing something so disgusting. Pepper opens her mouth to suggest another quick prayer when Tony himself opens the door.  
“It’s time.”

* * *

It’s unsettling how silent it is in the palace. There are some servants walking around, but they don’t say anything, they just bow. All the guests are already in the hall and every step you take to get there feels incredibly difficult. You’re holding on to Tony, Pepper and Darcy are walking behind you.

When you get there, you have to take a moment to breathe. Tony rubs your hand. “It’s going to be fine. You can do this, remember?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak right now. Pepper and Darcy slip in the hall and when the door opens a little bit you hear the chatter of so many people, packed in there, waiting to see you get married to Steve. You wobble a bit and Tony’s grip on you tightens.

“Seriously, Y/N, say the word and I’ll get you out of here,” Tony whispers, ignoring the guards who are looking at you.

“Shut up,” you hiss, trying to breathe through your nausea. “Shut up, Tony. Shut up.”

“Ready, your Highness?” the guard asks.

You want to nod, but you just can’t. Tony rubs your back. “Just give her a minute.”

You’re angry at the world. You’re angry at everybody in that room who has no idea what’s going through you, you’re angry at your parents, you’re angry at HYDRA, you’re angry at yourself for coming up with this idea. You’re angry at Natasha for not being here, you’re angry for Steve who’s not at all nervous and that’s so unfair, you’re angry at Darcy for turning this all into a joke, you’re angry at Tony and Pepper for having such a perfect marriage.

“You’re going to do so great,” Tony says. “You’re going to walk in there with your head held high and you’re going to be the envy of every woman. You’re going to walk without stumbling and you’re going to marry Steve. You’re going to do this because I know you. You need to do this. It doesn’t matter what I think of you or anyone else. It’s what you think of yourself. Go and make yourself proud.”

You close your eyes, taking a shaky breath. “I hate what HYDRA has made of me. They broke me.”

“Maybe. Maybe you’re just having a bit of nerves before your wedding. Honestly, everybody has them.”

“You?”

“Sure. I love Pepper, but it’s a big commitment. Doesn’t mean I’m not incredibly happy that I married her,” Tony says. “Y/N. Do you want to do this or not?”

You open your eyes, looking at him. You see so much of your parents in him, but even more of the little boy who threw cherries with you, who protected you from the monsters, who was always there for you.

“Yes.”

“Then, let’s not torture the poor groom anymore,” Tony says. You squeeze his hand, chuckling softly.

Tony nods to the guards. “Let’s go.”

The door opens and the guests stop talking. Music starts playing and you just stare at the sea of faces, looking for people you know. And there are a lot of people you know. You recognize people you’ve met over the few days, but also other people. You see Darcy, sitting next to a woman who you can only assume to be Jane Foster. Wanda is sitting there, winking at you. Scott Lang, Sam Wilson, the Barton family. The closer you get to the end of the aisle, the more people you recognize. Pepper is sitting at the front, smiling at you. Clint isn’t sitting with his family, he’s sitting close to where Steve is standing, just in case. He nods at you. Bucky is there too, and you swear he let’s out a little whistle when he sees you. And there are so much more people. It’s a little bit overwhelming, so you just focus on not tripping and focus your eyes on Steve.

Steve looks good.

Incredibly good.

He’s wearing his uniform and the crown. He smiles at you and you wonder how much of your face he can see while you’re wearing the veil. Just in case he can see you good enough you smile back at him. The music slowly stops and so do you and Tony. He turns to you, squeezing your hand.

“There you go, little sister,” he says. “You’ll have to do the rest on your own.”

“I can do it,” you whisper back.

“Never thought you couldn’t,” Tony says. He turns to Steve and shakes his hands. You’re too focused on the way you can almost hear your heart beating in your chest that you miss what Tony says to Steve. Probably a threat in a teasing tone, judging from the way Steve laughs a bit nervously.

Tony leaves to go and sit with Pepper and you’re left with Steve in front of all those guests. You try to ignore them and just focus on the man who’s going to be your husband. He reaches over to you and lifts the veil, gently so he doesn’t knock the tiara of your head. He smiles again when the veil is out of your face.

“You look… beautiful,” he says. “Really.”

“Thank you,” you say, a bit shyly.

He takes your hands in his and rubs over the back of your hands with his thumbs. “Come on, sweetheart.”

He helps you up the platform where the priest is standing. You just focus on Steve and his comforting presence as the priest starts talking about the guests and marriage. He talks about Steve, about you, but you just can’t focus. You glance at Pepper, who’s holding hands with Tony and smiles at you encouragingly.

When it’s time for the vows, you pull yourself together and force yourself to listen to the priest. Steve goes first.

“Steven Grant Rogers, do you take this woman to be your wife, to live together in holy marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?”

You swallow thickly, looking at Steve. Steve glances at you, squeezing your hands. “I do.”

The priest nods, looking at you. “Y/N Stark, do you take this man to be your husband, to live together in holy marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”

You take a deep breath. Saying ‘I do’ will mean it’s official. You’ll be his wife. You know what you have to do. You know what you have to say. You know that you have a duty, a duty to fulfill. And because of that, you look up to Steve, saying the words that seal your fate: “I do.”

It’s silent for a moment and you have no idea what happens now. Then, the priest says. “The rings, please.”

Bucky stands up, digging the rings out of his pocket, handing them to the priest who’s looking a bit annoyed. Steve takes your ring and slips it on your finger. It’s cold against your heated skin and somehow a bit heavy. The priest nods at you and you take Steve’s ring, trying to slide it on Steve’s finger. Your hands are trembling too much. The priest looks at the floor. Steve puts his free hand on yours.

“It’s all right,” he whispers, helping you slide the ring on. “It’s going to be all right.”

When the ring is on, you look at him. At the man who told you not to curtsy for him, the man who has a garden and is going to plant a rose bush in memory of your mother. The man who brought you to your room when you had too much to drink, the man who didn’t judge you for being interested in women too, the man who looked after you and talked you through a horrible episode, the man who fired his maid for you, the man who’s going to paint your royal portrait. Your husband.

The priest smiles. “They have vowed, in our presence, to be loyal and loving towards each other. They have formalized the bond by the giving and receiving of rings. Therefore, it is my pleasure to now pronounce them husband and wife.”

You hear some people clap, far away.

The priest turns to your husband. “Steve, you may now kiss the bride.”

Steve looks at you. “Okay?”

You want to laugh. Are you really going to tell him no in front of a hall filled with guests eager to see you kiss? But then you see the look in his eyes, and you realize that if you tell him that it’s not okay, he'll take your hand and just walk down the aisle with you, not caring about anyone’s opinion.

“It’s okay,” you say.

And with that he leans down, cupping your cheeks in his hands, trying to ignore the way you tremble and presses his lips against yours. You stiffen the moment his lips touch yours but then you tell yourself to relax, to just enjoy this. It’s just Steve. The man with whom you’ve gardened almost every day. He’s your friend. You know him. He’s not going to hurt you. You focus on the way he smells and the softness of his lips. You try to move with him, just like you did with Natasha and that makes you a bit nauseous. Thinking of Natasha while your husband kisses you isn’t right. But before you can beat yourself up too much about that Steve pulls away, a bit breathless. Only then do you notice the applause. You blush and Steve puts his arm around you, pulling you close.

“You did it,” he murmurs.

You want to press your fingers against your lips that feel swollen, but you know that will only feed the crowd more. You just want to get out of here, to be alone for a moment to gather your thoughts. But then a little girl walks up towards you, holding a bouquet of flowers. From the way Clint jumps up, it’s definitely not planned.

You smile at the girl who holds up the flowers. You kneel down, patting the girl’s head. She can’t be older than five. You notice a woman standing there, trying to call her back, obviously embarrassed.

“Is this for me?” you ask, pointing to the flowers.

The girl nods, a bit awestruck.

You laugh at her. “That’s incredibly kind of you. What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Jo,” she says, pushing the flowers in your hands.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Jo,” you say. The woman, who you can only assume is Jo’s mother, is standing behind her now, trying to pick her up. The crowd is loving it, you can hear the ooh’s and the aw’s.

“I’m so sorry,” the woman says after finally managing to tear Jo away from you. You wink at the little girl.

“It’s fine,” you say, reaching over to shake the woman’s hand.

And that’s when everything goes incredibly fast. You hear some yells and from the corner of your eye, you can see Clint running. The woman grabs your wrist and pulls you close to her with a strength that surprises you, you hear Steve yelling something and trying to grab you, and you just don’t understand what’s going on until you look down and you see the woman is holding a knife, trying to push it between your ribs. Her breath is hot against your skin and then you hear her whisper the dreaded words: “Hail HYDRA.”

You scream as you’re tackled to the ground. There’s much more screaming and you don’t know who it is. Your whole body is aching, and you look down at your stomach while someone pushes you down, breathing in relief when you don’t see any blood. The dress is torn, but the woman wasn’t able to actually stab you through the thick corset. You try to get up, but someone holds you down. When you see the red curls, you realize it’s Wanda.

“Don’t get up,” she orders. You look at the woman and the girl who are both being dragged away by Clint and some of his men. The woman looks at you with a fury you’ve never seen in a person and she spits on the floor as she’s taken away.

Steve’s kneeling down next to you. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head, trying to get your head wrapped around what just happened. You’re married. Steve kissed you. And someone just tried to murder you. Tony is there too, yelling at Wanda to get off of you. Guests are talking to each other and the sound of so many people is just so overwhelming. You close your eyes, suddenly very dizzy.

Steve’s arms are around you. He stands up, you in his arms, talking to Wanda and Tony. You close your eyes, focusing on breathing while Steve carries you out of the hall through a backdoor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't yell too loudly at me in the comments.  
> Just kidding! Let me know what you thought!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the lovely comments! I won't even bother apologizing for that cliffhanger because I'm not actually sorry. Here ya go, wedding part 2!

“Who the hell invited that lunatic!?” Tony yells so loudly that you put your hands over your ears. You’re sitting in a chair with Pepper kneeled next to you, trying to make you drink some water. Steve is pacing through the room.

Clint, who has just returned, answers: “There are peasants at every royal wedding, King Stark. It’s tradition, to include the people too. They were on the list. God knows how they got on there.”

“Well, it’s pretty obvious. You’ve got HYDRA people in here,” Tony says, glaring at Clint.

“What will happen to the child?” Pepper asks, coaxing you to take another sip.

Clint sighs. “We’ll think about that later. If I had to guess she’s an orphan that HYDRA kidnapped for this mission. It’s a smart move. Nobody suspects little children.”

“Yeah, and because of that little child, my sister almost died,” Tony says, finally sitting down.

“Tony, calm down,” Pepper tells him. “Can we all just take a moment to breathe? And focus on Y/N?”

Tony looks at you, guiltily. “God, I’m an ass.”

“Understatement of the year,” Pepper tells him, glancing at you, but you don’t laugh. You’re just thinking about the girl and the flowers and the way you didn’t suspect anything. The anger in the woman’s eyes. What did you ever do to her? Why would she do this? Why would she use a child like this?

Steve kneels next to you too, gently rubbing your upper back. Pepper has taken the veil off your hair and the tiara is sitting down on the table in front of you.

“What’s going to happen to the coronation?” you ask Steve, who purses his lips.

“Honestly, I think we should wait. We can always do the coronation another day. I think you need your rest.”

Taking a nap sounds heavenly right now, but you know it wouldn’t be the right thing to do. Backing down, hiding in your room, that won’t look good. It’ll mean backing down, it’ll mean letting HYDRA take control of your plans and that means they win. You’ve let them win once when you spent two months in bed after they murdered your parents. You’re not about to let that happen again.

“Can I have an hour to calm down?” you ask Steve. “Just an hour, and then we can do the coronation.”

“Are you sure you want to go through with it, sweetheart?”

 _Sweetheart_. There it is again. You’d be lying if that nickname didn’t make something in your stomach flutter. Sweetheart, that’s something only your parents have ever called you. But now your husband, yes, your husband is calling you a sweetheart.

You nod. “I want to do it. Really.”

“Well, I think the guests would also like an hour to settle again,” Phil Coulson says. When did he come in? “I’ll make sure the guests are served some more snacks and I’ll make an announcement that there will be a coronation, just a little bit later.”

“I’ll standing next to you two the whole time,” Clint says. “Together with Bucky. I’m going to get even more security in the hall. An hour would be nice to try and get something out of the woman.”

Steve listens to the two men and then he finally nods. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Everybody leaves, leaving you alone with Steve. It’s different now. You’re his wife. You look at your wedding dress, at the ruined upper half. The dressmaker will be heartbroken. Steve stands up and gets a chair to sit down next to you.

“I’m sorry that happened,” Steve says.

You look up. “It’s not your fault.”

Steve presses his lips into a thin line. He obviously doesn’t agree with you, but he knows better than to argue with you.

“We’ll do the quick crowning ceremony. Because you’ll be the Queen consort, your ceremony is already shorter than mine. You do need a new dress,” Steve says.

“I know. I’ll get Darcy to grab one for me.”

“So… we’re married now,” Steve says, looking at his folded hands. “That kiss, I’m sorry if that crossed a boundary or something.”

“I told you it was okay. Trust me, you didn’t cross a boundary. I’m your wife, right?”

“That doesn’t mean I can do whatever I want to you.” Steve reaches over to you, grabbing your hand. “You do know that, right? You can tell me no.”

“Is this about tonight?” you blurt out.

Steve turns red. “Y/N, nothing’s going to happen tonight that you’re not okay with.”

You nod. Honestly, you have no idea how you will feel tonight when you’re in his bedroom with him. Maybe you’ll freak out. You just know that right now you wouldn’t mind if he kissed you again. To feel his lips against you would be nice, especially since you’re not in front of a crowd now. You’re here and you’re safe. But you’re not going to ask for a kiss. You don’t have the courage for that.

Darcy comes. She makes no crude comments and that only makes you feel more unsettled. Steve excuses himself to go and talk to some people. You get changed in a new dress, a light blue one that is suitable for the occasion but not too dramatic. Darcy helps you with the hair, taking out a bit of the hairstyle to make it look a little bit more relaxed. You look young again, every inch the blushing virgin bride. When you’re done you slip on the gloves, looking at the wedding dress that’s hanging over one of the chairs.

“Maybe the dressmaker can fix it,” Darcy says, noticing the way you look at it.

“I’m not going to wear it again. What would be the point?”

“I don’t know,” Darcy says, sitting down.

You know she wants to talk about what happened. You know that it shook her up too, but you can’t handle it right now. You have less than half an hour. You don’t want to talk about how you almost got stabbed. You want to talk about happy things.

“So, what was it like, seeing Lady Jane again?” you ask her.

Darcy tells you about the reunion with her friend. Now she’s relaxed again, she starts talking about the gossip she’s picked up and the dresses of the ladies. She takes some extra time to mock the most outrageous dresses and you laugh with her, listening to her going absolutely crazy about a woman wearing a dress that resembles a birds nest.

It’s time. Clint comes in, telling Darcy to go back and take her seat. As soon as he leaves, he puts his hand on your shoulder, pulling you in an almost hug.

“Sorry kid,” he murmurs. “I should have done something the moment that little girl appeared.”

“You didn’t know.”

Clint pulls away. “Still. Anyway, this is what’s going to happen. I’m going to step out and then you wait like 30 seconds and walk outside. I follow behind you. Steve and the others are standing there next to the thrones. All you have to do is kneel down in front of them. The entire ceremony I’m right next to you. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“How are the guests?”

“Shaken up but distracted because they want to see you being crowned Queen of America. Ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you say.

Clint nods and steps out. You look at yourself in the mirror, fretting with your gloves while you count to 30. Then you open the door, your head held high, and you walk. Everybody’s still there and the mood has changed. You look at Tony, who nods at you. Pepper blows you a kiss. The sun is shining in through the windows and you squint a bit to be able to look at Steve. Bucky is there, the priest, Wanda, and Phil Coulson.

You stand in front of them, looking at Steve and then you fall on your knees. You bow your head. Clint is standing next to you; you can see his shoes. You’re vulnerable, anybody could run up to you and drive a dagger through your back. Would the corset you’re wearing now help and would Wanda be quick enough? Stop it, you tell yourself, Clint is next to you, you’re safe.

Steve stands in front of you, taking your hands in his, helping you up. You keep your eyes on the floor. This entire ceremony is just a reminder that you’re beneath him. You’re a princess now and in the end, you’ll be a Queen, but a Queen consort, and if Steve wanted to, you would have to curtsy for him. The power he has over you is immense, but you know him well enough to know he’ll never use it against you.

There are a few prayers. You have to repeat an oath after the priest. Coulson and Maximoff have to sign a paper. Bucky winks at you while they put down their signatures. You’re in a daze and everything’s such a blur. But then the tiara is there, and you have to kneel down in front of the priest again for him to put it on your head. When you stand up, you get to stand next to Steve, who’s wearing his crown. You hold on to his hand like it’s the only thing that’s keeping you upright, and maybe it is.

A man that you recognize as the royal announcer stands up. “I present to you, Queen Y/N Rogers of America. Long live the Queen!”

There’s applause and a few “Long live the Queen” shouts. Music starts playing and the national anthem is played. You look at the crowd. Are there more HYDRA people hiding there, waiting until they get the chance? Everybody stands and you wonder where the rest of the peasants are and if Clint has talked to each and every one of them to figure out if they have bad intentions. When everybody bows you don’t really know what to do. You just stand there, next to your husband. You’re a married woman and you’re the Queen of America.

You still feel the same.

* * *

There’s dinner. While the servants set everything up in the giant dining room, you have to shake hands with every guest and listen to them give you advice. Everybody wants to ask you how you are and tell you how horrible that little ‘interruption’ was. Steve tries to stay with you, but eventually, he’s torn away by a couple of other Kings who want to talk to him. You don’t get a chance to talk to Pepper or Tony or any of the other people you actually know and like. So, when it’s announced that dinner is served, you breathe in relief.

You sit next to Steve at the big table reserved for family and closest friends. There’s still a lot of noise: people talking, the sound of cutlery on plates, laughing, servants talking to each other, but you can handle it. You drink a bit of wine and roll your eyes when you see the look Steve gives you.

“I can handle a few sips,” you say.

“Just keep it at a few sips,” Steve tells you. “We still have to dance, remember?”

Nobody talks about what happened during the ceremony at your table. You’re just about to take another bite of your food when you feel a little hand tug on your sleeve. You look next to you in alarm, expecting to see the little girl from the ceremony, but it’s another girl. Clint’s daughter.

“Miss Y/N?” she asks.

Clint, who chose to sit with his family on another table, appears behind her. “Hey, missy, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I drew a picture of you as a super cool Queen,” the girl says.

You smile, looking at the picture. It’s a drawing of a woman with your hair color wearing a giant crown. It’s terrible and you love it.

“Thank you so much,” you say, and you pull her in a hug before Clint can take his daughter back to their table. You rub the girl’s back. When you let her go, she turns to her dad. “I hugged the Queen!”

“It’s fine, Clint,” you tell him. They leave and you show the drawing to Steve, who laughs loudly.

“Maybe we should use that as the royal portrait,” he whispers to you.

“Hmm, it’s a masterpiece, but I do like where you’re going with my portrait,” you say.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

 _Sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart_. It echoes through your head while you eat your dessert, while you listen to the conversations of the people around you. Steve says it again when dinner is over, and music starts playing.

“Come on, sweetheart. Time to dance,” he says. “Don’t scream when I step on your toes.”

You walk to the dancefloor, incredibly aware of all the eyes trained on the two of you. It’s a simple dance, it’s just holding on to each other as you sway with the music. You’ve done this before, and you’ve seen your parents do it all the time. The problem is just that you have to be incredibly close to Steve, almost pressed up against him, your head tucked under his chin, listening to his heartbeat. He spins you around and you catch a glimpse of your hand with the wedding band.

“So, you’re the Queen,” Steve says as he pulls you close again.

You look up at him. “I am.”

“How does that feel?”

“Honestly? It doesn’t feel any different,” you say.

Steve chuckles. “I know. After I got crowned King, I felt the same. You’ll notice the difference the next few days, though.”

You smile at him. The song slows down a bit and you’re just barely moving. Your head is resting against his chest and you close your eyes for a moment. Steve’s smell surrounds you. It’s a smell you can’t quite describe. Just manly. He doesn’t smell like an old man, though. He smells just fine. You yell at yourself in your head for spending time thinking about Steve’s smell and that makes you chuckle. Honestly, you feel like you’re losing your mind. It has been a long day though, in your own defense.

When the dance ends, you take one step back. You’re still close, but no longer pressed against each other. Other couples enter the dance floor and you see Pepper pull Tony with her. Steve doesn’t move, looking at you.

“Would it be all right if I kissed you now?”

You look up at him, feeling incredibly vulnerable because of the way he gazes at you. You wet your lips with the tip of your tongue, nodding, not trusting your voice at the moment. And then Steve’s kissing you again and it feels so much better, so much more natural. You move with him now, remembering that kissing is just a dance.

Everybody’s far too busy with other stuff to notice the two of you kissing and that’s the most perfect thing ever. Standing in the middle of a crowded room, you’ve somehow managed to be alone with Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the next chapter will be all about the wedding night. Everything will be consensual and I'm not getting into extreme detail, I'm not really comfortable with writing that, but hopefully it will be a perfect mix between sexiness and straight out explicit smut, if you get what I mean!  
> I'm hoping to get it out soon for you guys, but I'm having a busy week and a lot more stuff coming up. Most of it is my fault, I should really stop procrastinating on literally everything, lol!  
> Anyways, let me know what you think of this chapter!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wedding night!

At the end of the night, your feet feel like they’re going to fall off. You’ve been walking around non-stop, dancing with whoever wants to dance with you and talking to whoever wants to chat. It’s your duty, but right now you just want to lie down.

Steve notices. He’s by your side immediately, putting his hand on your shoulder. “Want to retire?”

You realize what that means. Retiring means going with him, to his room. To sleep with him. He’s told you that nothing’s going to happen that you don’t want to happen, but you still feel a bit nervous. Especially after that kiss. You have no idea if you want to sleep with him or not. God, your feelings are a mess. The adrenaline from the attack during the ceremony has finally left your body and you’re just tired now.

“Yes, please,” you say.

Steve says something to Bucky, who nods. Tony and Pepper who are nearby notice and Pepper pulls you into a quick hug, telling you that it’s going to be fine. Some other people wish you a good night and you’re a bit spooked out by the way some older men say it. When Steve’s standing next to you again, you lean against him. You’re no stranger to the lust filled looks of older men. You’ve received them when you got breasts, when you wore pretty dresses. It’s disgusting, knowing that they’re thinking about you sleeping with Steve, fantasizing of being on top of you.

You wish Pepper and Tony a good night and then you’re off. Once you’re outside, you let out a long sigh. It’s cooler out here and it’s like a weight has lifted off of you. At least, for a moment. When you start walking with Steve to his room the weight appears again, only much heavier.

Steve’s room hasn’t changed since the last time you were there. The painting supplies aren’t there, though, and you see two suitcases on the bed. When you open them, you recognize some of your stuff. Not everything has been brought here, just the necessities. You’ll move the rest here soon with Darcy. Hopefully, Steve has enough room in his closet for all your dresses.

When your husband puts his hand on your shoulder, you shriek. “God, you scared me.”

“You’re a bit tense, Y/N,” Steve says. “I just wanted to say that I’m going to change… in the bathroom. Just thought that would make you comfortable.”

You nod. He gets some sleeping clothes and goes into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. You sit down next to the suitcases, biting your lip. God, your head is still pounding from the constant noise that you’ve been surrounded by. And your neck and back ache because of the way Wanda tackled you. And then, your lips… they still feel swollen and tingly from the kissing. You stand up again, pulling the suitcases off the bed and putting them in the corner. Once you’re there you notice the bottle of liquor and the glasses on the cabinet. You look at the bathroom door. No sign of Steve. Quickly you pour a bit of the beverage in a glass and take a swig, almost choking when it feels like your throat is on fire. You double over, somehow managing to put the glass on the cabinet, coughing loudly.

“Sweetheart?” Steve is there. “What happened?”

You shake your head, steadying yourself on the cabinet. “Oh, wow, that is… strong.”

“Why would you drink that? You can’t even handle a few glasses of wine, Y/N,” Steve says. Only then do you notice he’s not wearing a shirt, only his sleeping pants. You quickly avert your eyes.

“I can do what I want,” you mutter. Then: “I just wanted to drink something. A bit of liquid courage, like my dad uses to say.”

Steve sighs. “I told you that nothing’s going to happen that you don’t-”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, coughing again. “I’m still a bit nervous. Listen, I’ve never done this before, and I don’t want it to hurt or find out that I’m really bad at it…”

“Hey, hey,” Steve says, cupping your cheeks. His hands feel warm against your skin. “Would it help if I told you we’re just going to lie down and sleep?”

“Really?”

“Really. Come on, I know you’re tired and I am too. Couldn’t really sleep last night.”

“I couldn’t either,” you say, looking up at him. “Okay. That helps.”

After you’ve been in the bathroom you climb on to the bed, lying down next to Steve who has put on a sleeping shirt. You’ve slept here before, you remind yourself, it’s a comfortable bed. You rearrange the pillows a bit so you can lie there more comfortable. Steve’s just staring at the ceiling, his hands folded on his stomach.

“So, we’re married now,” he eventually says.

You hum, looking down at your hand with the wedding band. It’s strange, but not entirely unpleasant. Steve takes your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. It’s a very Steve-like gesture and you let him do it.

“Do your feet still hurt? I saw you limping a bit,” Steve says.

“It’s better now I’m lying down, and my feet aren’t contained in those tight shoes,” you whisper. “I’m okay.”

Steve nods. “Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Steve,” you whisper back as he sits up, blowing out the candle on the bed stand. Eventually, he lets go of his hand and in a few minutes, he’s asleep, something that you can only marvel at. Well, you used to sleep like that before all the nightmares. You only hope you will eventually fall asleep like that again.

You lie there, listening to his breathing, feeling the warmth he radiates. Your eyelids grow heavy and you think about how you weren’t expecting this for a wedding night, but then again, Steve isn’t the man you were expecting to marry either.

* * *

When you wake up, you’re curled up against Steve, no. In his sleep, he’s put his arm around you, and you have to admit that it’s a nice feeling, being held by another human being. You’ve never slept with anyone else in a bed before, but you can see the appeal. He’s warm and smells comforting, so you snuggle a bit closer. He’s still asleep, so it’s not like he’s going to notice.

It’s not morning yet. There’s no light peeking out from underneath the curtains. You’re feeling a bit better after what you assume is a few hours of sleep. You have no idea what you dreamt about, you’re just grateful that you didn’t have another nightmare. For once, things have worked out for you. Your first night sharing a bed with your husband and you haven’t scared him to death by screaming your lungs out. Good job, Y/N!

Steve stiffens a bit underneath you. Your eyes have adjusted to the darkness well enough that you can see his eyelids flutter. He’s waking up. You don’t have enough time to pull away and lie down on your side of the bed, he’s already opening his eyes.

“Hey,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Hey,” you whisper. “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I’m a light sleeper. And I don’t sleep much. It’s fine,” Steve says. “What’s going on?”

Suddenly, you’re struck by the intense desire to feel those lips of his against yours again. You can’t quite explain it, but just the memory of that kiss on the dancefloor and how much better it felt makes you want to find out if the next kiss will get even better.

“Will you kiss me?” you ask, grateful for the darkness that makes it impossible for him to see how flushed your cheeks are. In the darkness, you’re a little bit braver and a little bit bolder. In the darkness, you can hide, and you can reveal yourself. Sometimes, both at the same time.

Steve nods, leaning up to press his lips against yours. It’s better, it’s so much better, you yell at yourself. God! It’s slow, nobody’s hurrying you on. You’re in control now and it’s just perfect, the way he moves his lips against yours. You remember vaguely that Natasha once told you that people who really love each other kiss each other with tongue as well, so you try that too. He’s a bit surprised, but he goes along with it. The feel of his tongue against yours is strange but not as gross as you imagined it to be. It’s warm and intimate. You just enjoy kissing him, trying out new things, finding ways to make the kiss even better, gasping for breath whenever he pulls away a little bit. You scoot a bit closer to kiss him even better and then you hear him groan. You pull back.

“Did I hurt you?” you ask, concerned.

He shakes his head. “You just moved against…”

You feel it now. He’s hard, pressed against your thigh. You feel him through your nightgown and you immediately feel all the blood in your body go to your head. You must be as red as a tomato right now.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“It’s fine.” You know it’s just a bodily reaction. Your mother explained it to you. You’re on top of him, kissing him, off course his… thing… is going to react. You don’t want to talk about it, you don’t want to linger on it any longer than you have to, so you lean down again and capture his lips.

The kiss is different now. It’s a bit hungrier and no longer as unhurried as it was in the beginning. You gasp when his teeth slide against your lips and gasp again when you realize you liked it.

Who did Steve kiss before you? How much practice has he had? The thoughts pop up in your head and once again you curse your brain for always coming up with the most annoying thoughts at the most inconvenient times. You don’t want to think about the women your husband kissed before you. But now you’re just imagining all the women, pretty women, tall women, small women, blonde, brunette, red-haired women. What if he kissed Darcy? Or Wanda? Now that you’re thinking about it, a past thing with Lilith could explain why she went around and spread lies about you.

“Sweetheart?”

You’ve stopped kissing him, distracted by the thoughts in your head. You sigh, laying your head down on his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

You wait a moment before asking him. “Steve? I told you about Natasha… you never told me about anybody you liked. Or courted, I don’t know. There must have been a few women, right?”

Steve is an attractive man. You’re willing to admit that. He can kiss quite well and he’s nice. His money and status don’t hurt either. Steve doesn’t seem like the person who had a group of admirers following him around like Tony used to do, but you’ll really be shocked if he tells you that nobody ever expressed some interest in him.

“There was one woman,” Steve begins. “There were some women who wanted to court me after I hit my late growth spurt, but I only really had eyes for Peggy.”

“Peggy?”

“Well, her name was Margaret, but she made everybody call her Peggy. She joined our army, the first woman ever. Now we have Wanda and some other women, but at the time my father was the king and he didn’t think women should be on the battlefield. Peggy didn’t care. She came here, pointing out that technically there was no rule that prevented her from joining and she quickly showed everybody just how worthy she was. She was funny and brave, and we talked a lot while I did my training. She liked me for who I was, never treated me like the crown prince. She wasn’t afraid to tell me when I was wrong or hit me on the head when I was acting like an idiot.”

You smile. “What happened?”

“I wanted to ask her to court, but I never got the chance. I wasn’t actually there when it happened but… apparently, she was sparring with a few guys, teaching them some moves. They were next to the river and there were a lot of rocks there. A guy pushed her, and she lost her balance, falling down, hitting her head on one of the rocks. It was an accident. It wasn’t a hard or deliberate push and if she had hit her head just a little bit differently, she wouldn’t have died. The healers said she wouldn’t have felt any pain; she was dead in a few seconds.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“I don’t know if we would have worked out. I would have tried, but you never know. It just wasn’t… wasn’t the death she deserved. Peggy was a great woman and she deserved some kind of heroic death. This was just stupid. She was home, she was safe, surrounded by other soldiers, she just lost her balance and then everything was just over.”

“It’s unfair,” you agree with him.

He nods. “Thanks for listening to that. It’s probably not nice to hear me talk about Peggy at all.”

“You listened to me about Natasha. We’re friends, remember? And a bit more now.”

“I suppose.”

You lean up to press a kiss on his cheek, but then his lips are on yours again and you just can’t think anymore. He’s running his hands over your back and you reach up to cup his cheek, pulling him closer. You know where this is headed. You should probably just go to sleep, you should just take some time and think all of this through, you’re still a bit shaken up from everything that has happened, but it just feels so right. You don’t want to think. You just want to _feel_. You start panting a bit, wanting to get so close that you don’t know where you end, and he begins. So, you’re not feeling like you want to stop, and you get the impression that Steve doesn’t want to do that either.

You like Steve. A lot. You’re not quite ready to say that you love him, but you know you can sleep with him without loving him. People do it all the time without loving each other. You know what you want and if Steve’s willing to give it to you, you’re going to get it. All the nerves you had the previous days about this part of the wedding night – you can still call it night, it’s not light yet – have just disappeared.

“Are you sure?” Steve asks, pulling away, looking very disheveled.

You nod and kiss him again.

* * *

When you wake up, it’s morning. Your body aches, but in a very pleasant way. Steve’s nowhere to be seen, but you forgive him for not being there when you wake up. It late in the morning and despite the wedding, you know he can’t just stay in bed all day. He is the king, after all.

You waddle to the bathroom and look at yourself in the mirror after drinking some water. Your hair is all tangled and you can see the marks on your jaw and throat. Darcy is going to faint when she sees it and you’re already looking forward to that.

God, sleeping with him was the best thing ever. You’ve never been that intimate with anyone. The way he touched you, always so gentle and constantly asking if it was okay… the way he felt against you. Skin against skin. His hands mapping your skin like he wanted to memorize every stretch mark, every curve, everything that makes you _you_.

When you look at yourself in the mirror again, you’re as red as a tomato.

Back in the bedroom you pick up your nightgown from the floor and pull it on. Everything happened so slowly. You took all your time to discover everything, to realize just how pleasurable some stuff can be. You feel your face heat up even more when you think back to the moment when he was inside of you. It felt so incredibly amazing, being stroked from the inside. It was almost overwhelming.

The bed is a mess. The bed linens are all turned over. Some pillows are on the ground and the moment you pick one of them up to put them on the bed you vividly remember the way Steve put one of them under your hips, making it feel _so_ much better. You push the memories away; you’ll get yourself all worked up if you keep reminiscing about last night. You try to get the bed back to its original state, but it’s a bit hard when every time you bend over it hurts. You’ve definitely used some muscles last night that you never used before and you also now understand what your maids back at home meant by beard burn. In the end, you just give up and lie down on the bed that now smells of Steve _and_ you. You close your eyes with the huge grin on your face and before you know it, you’re asleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aah! I'm really excited about this chapter, I hope you guys liked it! Please leave me a comment to let me know what you thought of it!
> 
> The rating is still mature but if you guys think that it should go up to explicit, please let me know! :D  
> Also, I hope nobody's upset that I kind of killed off Peggy. I love her character, I'm watching Agent Carter right now (I finally got my hands on the DVD-set!) and she's just amazing, but I didn't want to get any drama with having Peggy around and some kind of love triangle. I wanted to mention her because she was once a big part of Steve's life and then I kind of had to have a reason for her not to be there. I chose for her being dead. Sorry!


	14. Author's Note

Dear reader,

I know, I know, you were hoping for a new chapter. I'm sorry to disappoint. I don't have a new chapter for you today. This author's note is not to tell you that I'm going on hiatus or something, don't worry, it's an update.

Life's been a bit hectic lately, a family member is unwell and I've been a bit stuck with this story. The reader and Steve are married now which is BIG, but there's still so much to go. I started writing this with almost no idea where I was headed, just that there would be a wedding. I then thought that I would end this story with the big wedding and a ' I love you' but that's not how it went. This story is about romance, but it's about so much more than that. It's about trust, healthy relationships, family and most importantly: about trauma.

I've been struggling with an outline for this story so I can end this story as best as possible. You guys have been the best readers ever, your comments, your kudos, your subscriptions, and bookmarks brighten my day and I really want to deliver my best work!

I want to write about the romance between Steve and the reader, but I also want conversations about feminism, marriage, and consent. I want the reader to work through her trauma, I want a satisfying end with HYDRA. I want to wrap Natasha's storyline up and Pepper's pregnancy too. I want to explore the relationship between Bucky and the reader. I also have a lot of ideas for the little girl, Jo, at the wedding, who gave her the flowers and was with HYDRA.

I have so many ideas, I just want to write them well and to have a storyline that makes sense. I'm working on the outline, I'm going right back to it after I've posted this. I'm not abandoning this story, it may just take a few more days for the next chapter to arrive. I just wanted to let you guys know, because I've always updated fairly regularly and I don't want you guys worrying about why there's not a new chapter.

Have a wonderful day and thank you for being such a lovely reader,

The author


	15. Chapter 14

When you wake up again it’s late in the afternoon and there’s a cup of tea on the bedside table that’s already cold. You have no idea who left it there, but you’re guessing it wasn’t Darcy. She would have probably woken you up to hear every little detail about last night.

You just want to go to sleep again. Now that the wedding is over, now that you’re Mrs. Rogers, it feels like a burden has fallen off. You’ve done it. There’s nothing to be anxious about now. You’ve been crowned Queen. Steve will deal with the guests. He’ll come up with some excuse, he’s good at that. You’re staying in bed, catching up on sleep. You snuggle up against a pillow and close your eyes again. Before you can get really comfortable and fall asleep, someone knocks on the door.

You sit up. “Yes?”

The door opens. It’s Tony. He looks a little bit apprehensive stepping into the bedroom. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you say. “What’s going on?”

“Just checking in on my baby sister,” Tony says, walking over to the bed. “God, you’re still in bed? Lazy!”

“Says you! Remember when mom had to drag you out of bed to get you to wake up and then throw a cup of water over you?” you laugh. “I’m honeymooning. You’re not allowed to criticize me!”

“All right, all right,” Tony says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Jesus! What, is Steve still teething for him to bite you?”

You look at your shoulders, blushing. “Very funny, Tony.”

“I’m just saying that he really went for it. I didn’t think he was the type, but you never really know, do you?”

“I’m not talking about this with you!”

Tony pushes you to the side so he can lie down next to you. “Good. I don’t want to know what happens between my sister and my brother-in-law. I’m just teasing you. Listen, Y/N. I have to talk to you about something.”

You turn your head towards him. He’s no longer smirking. It’s serious.

“What’s the matter?” you ask.

“I know I promised that Pepper and I would stay for a few more days, but…”

“You need to go back.”

“Yes. A messenger arrived. A few farms on the border of the Stark kingdom were raided. The owners brutally murdered. We’re needed back home.”

You can almost smell the blood, feel the dead body against you as you cried. Dead. People died because of HYDRA. Again. “They’re not giving up, are they?”

“I just spent at least an hour talking with your husband about how we can strengthen our defenses and try to snuff HYDRA out. It’s not going to be easy, but we have a strong alliance with America now. Apparently, Steve’s got a few sources who might be able to tell him soon where a few HYDRA bases are located. As soon as we know where they are, we’ll attack, together. With a bit of luck, we’ll have Asgard on our side too and maybe that idiot of a Quill will join us too.”

You sigh, closing your eyes. “Will it be enough?”

“Probably not. But it’ll be something. We need to show them we’re ready to fight and that we’re powerful and united. It’s one of the reasons they tried to ruin the wedding. An alliance between the Stark kingdom and America is one of their greater fears and it happened. That must have been a hard hit.”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“That’s because of you. You were brave. You can be proud of that.”

You put your head on Tony’s shoulder and stay silent for a moment. Then: “You can go home, Tony. I’ll manage here. Really. I would have loved to have you stay a little bit longer… but duty calls. Just promise that you’ll visit soon, and I’ll visit you too. And let me know how Pepper’s pregnancy goes.”

Tony nods.

“Thank you, Tony. For having my back. You really helped me.”

“Don’t mention it,” Tony whispers, pressing a kiss against your temple. “It was nothing.”

* * *

You get dressed to say goodbye to Tony and Pepper. You put on a dress with a high neckline to try and cover the marks, but it doesn’t help a lot. Steve really went for it, you think when you look at yourself in the mirror, which only makes you giggle. You put your hair up and then hurry downstairs where servants are already hauling Tony and Pepper’s suitcases in a carriage.

Pepper hugs you tightly, rubbing your back. “Everything went well, I’m assuming?”

“Everything was amazing,” you whisper, almost conspiringly.

Tony is talking to Clint, who’s there also. Your bodyguard winks at you the moment he sees you and you wink back. Pepper talks to you about some stuff that’s definitely not important and you just ignore her, knowing your mother is probably rolling in her grave now. You don’t mean to ignore Pepper, it’s just that Steve’s arrived and it’s so strange to look at him now and realize that he’s your husband.

He is though. He’s wearing the wedding band and he blushes a little bit when he smiles at you. It’s adorable and if Tony wasn’t here you would definitely point it out. He stands next to you and puts his arm around your waist when Tony helps Pepper climb into the carriage. Tony hugs you again, whispering in your ear that you just have to send a letter and he’ll come running. You laugh, patting his back. “Go home, idiot.”

Tony climbs into the carriage, waving at you before he closes the door. The moment the carriage leaves you feel a lump forming in your throat. You weren’t ready to say goodbye. You weren’t prepared. The knowledge that the next time you’ll see them it’ll be months sits heavy on your shoulders. You lean a bit against Steve, and he notices, softly rubbing the small of your back.

“You can go visit them soon, sweetheart,” he offers. Then: “I’m sorry, that doesn’t help at all, does it?”

You sigh. “God, I hate HYDRA.”

“You’re not the only one.”

You have no idea how many lives HYDRA destroyed. You know they have a lot of blood on their hands and you’re sure that Steve could get you the numbers of people killed by HYDRA, but you’re talking about the people whose lives are affected. You’re talking about yourself; you’re talking about that little girl Jo who was probably also a victim of HYDRA, you’re talking about the family of the farm people killed by HYDRA, you’re talking about everyone who ever witnessed them kill or was hurt by them. Massive numbers, you just know it. You hope that one day you’ll see their downfall, but you doubt it. They’re everywhere. You’ll never live in a world completely devoid of them. They’re like that dragon from the myths your mother told you about. Cut off one head and they’ll just grow another set.

“Have the woman and the girl talked?” you ask Steve.

“They’re both in the dungeons, but separate cells. The woman is just blabbing about how wonderful HYDRA is, how inevitable it is and how they’re coming for us. The usual stuff. I doubt we’re going to get anything useful out of her unless we start torturing and even then, it’ll be minimal. She seems like just a simple soldier, trained for one purpose only.”

“Do you think they have many women?”

“No. A few for missions where a woman is more useful, but not many.”

“And the girl?”

Steve rubs his beard. “She’s difficult. She won’t say anything, she’s just crying. Refuses to eat. I talked to her, Bucky talked to her, we even sent Clint in because he’s more skilled with children but no effect.”

You bite your lip, looking up at him. “Did you send a woman in there?”

“… no?”

“Of course, she’s not speaking to you. You’re a big man, Steve, and Bucky and Clint are too,” you say, putting your head against his chest while the guards close the gates. “Let me try.”

Before Steve can protest you continue speaking. “Steve, I talked to her during the ceremony and she came across as genuine to me. I truly believe she’s a victim who was forced to do it. She… she needs to start eating and feel safe and I think I can do that. I’m good with children. Besides, you’ll be outside with Clint. What harm can a little girl do to me?”

“I don’t like you being in the same room with somebody affiliated with HYDRA.”

“She’s most likely a toddler, Steve.”

“Sweetheart…” he sighs, but you know he’s not going to stop you from doing it. You hold the power. You play by your own rules and you’re stubborn. He knew that when he vowed to be your husband. You put your hands on his cheeks, feeling his skin against yours and pull him down into a chaste kiss that immediately brings you back to last night. It’s clear that you’re not the only one affected because you can hear Steve groan when you let go of him, his breath hot against your face. When he sees you smirk, he groans again, but it’s a different kind now.

“That’s not fair,” he whispers to you, holding you close.

“I never promised to play fair.”

* * *

You sit down at the table in the kitchen while the cook prepares a meal for Jo. You’ve met the cook before, a stout woman with thick blonde hair and a contagious laugh. You spent a lot of time in the kitchens during the wedding preparations and you tasted so many meals made by the woman. She never told you her name and always called you by your title, so different from the way Darcy treats you.

“Shall I make a cup of tea for the girl too, your Majesty?” the woman asks, turning around. She’s already warming up some porridge.

“Sure. Add some cold water, though, I wouldn’t want to burn her tongue,” you say, studying your wedding ring again. The woman looks at you and then turns around again. You hear her mumble something before she goes back to her work.

You frown, standing up. “Is something the matter?”

“Not at all, your Majesty,” she says while she pours some boiling water in a cup filled with leaves. She sighs. “Well… do I have your permission to speak freely?”

You nod. “Of course.”

“I was at the wedding. I wasn’t there during the whole ceremony, but I was able to sneak in a little bit later because I really wanted to see it,” she says, looking at the cup of tea. “I saw that little girl approaching you and you were so kind and sweet to her. I just thought: ‘She’ll make a good mother, someday.’ And then that girl turned out to be something… horrible. I don’t see why you want to help that girl or make sure that she doesn’t burn her tongue. She almost killed the Queen of America and now I have to make sure she gets some nice food. I’m happy to do whatever you order me to do, your Majesty, I just find it peculiar.”

You nod. “It’s all right. But there’s a chance that little girl was a victim too and even if she’s not, she’ll be no good to us if she starves herself.”

The woman puts some porridge in a bowl and then puts the bowl and the cup of tea on a plate. “I mean it, your Majesty. You’ll make a good mother. And a good Queen too. We’re all grateful to have you here.”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what to say to the comment that you’ll be a good mother or a good queen. And the thought that the servants are grateful to have you here… god, how do you react to that? The woman notices how flustered you’ve gotten, and she hands you the plate.

“Here you go, your Majesty. Good luck,” she says. “Stay safe.”

You leave the kitchen with the plate, mulling over the last comment. ‘Stay safe,’ a comment a mother might make. You suddenly feel very small, almost a child, holding that plate, standing in the hallway. Every insecurity you’ve ever felt returns tenfold as the confidence you possessed when you asked Steve if you could see Jo leaves. What are you going to say to that little girl? What if you’re wrong and she doesn’t respond well to a woman? What if she refuses to eat? And what if she is dangerous, if somehow…

“Ready?”

It’s Clint, striding over to you. He’s only armed with his sword, his bow and arrow not handy inside the palace. He puts his hand on your back and leads the way. On the way to the dungeons, he asks a question.

“So, I’m assuming everything went well last night?”

You almost stumble, choking on your spit. You have to take some time to regain your cool before you can answer Clint. “Mmh. Everything went well.”

“I told you, nothing to worry about.”

“No nightmares?”

“No nightmares.”

You have no idea who to thank for that. You know that Steve wouldn’t have judged you for having nightmares, but you’re still happy that it didn’t happen after _that_. You were vulnerable during the sex, but the vulnerability that comes with seeing you after you had a nightmare, crying and shaking, would have been so different. Clint, a man who has no romantic interest in you, saw you after having a nightmare and that was already embarrassing enough. You know that soon you will have a nightmare, but you’ll cross that bridge when you get to it. For now, you’re just grateful.

Bucky and Steve are waiting next to the stairs to the dungeon.

“Morning, majesty,” Bucky drawls.

You nod at him, still a bit unsure what the relationship between the two of you is.  He’s Steve’s best friend, you’re Steve’s wife. You’ve talked to Bucky before, but you’ve never gotten the feeling that he’s your friend. Is he just one of Steve’s friends and bodyguards to you? Most of all, you’re curious about what he thinks of you. You know that he was unsure about you in the beginning and took his time to test you, but is he still doing it now, keeping his eye on you? Trying to figure out if you’re good enough for Steve? It makes you uneasy, that you don’t know what he thinks of you. The feeling only worsens when Bucky notices the marks on your throat and pats Steve on the back, softly chuckling, before he walks down the stairs.

Steve looks at you a bit apologetically before he helps you down the stairs. Clint follows the two of you. It’s a bit of a difficult walk, the stairs are steep and it’s dark. You can see some light a bit further and your nose immediately fills with the smell of underground water and mold.

“Who is down here?” you ask Steve while you try to keep the plate upright.

“Jo and the woman only. All the other cells are empty. I don’t like keeping people down here,” Steve says.

“Still afraid of the dark, punk?” You hear Bucky say from somewhere in the darkness.

Steve laughs. “Trying to embarrass me in front of my wife?”

Something flutters in your belly when Steve refers to you as his wife. It’s definitely not unpleasant. You look at his face, almost unable to make out his features in the darkness. That’s your husband, you tell yourself. You have a husband. Steve notices your staring and he helps you down the last few steps.

Clint fetches a torch and you can finally see. Steve was telling the truth; the cells are empty. The woman and the girl must be in cells further back. But then you hear a scream and Steve grabs your waist, pulling you backward. The HYDRA woman is in the cell on your right and she launched herself against the bars, trying to reach for you. She screams madly.

“Come to see me, your Majesty? I curse you, I curse you and your entire family, you’re cursed now, you’ll never be happy ever or carry children, I curse you!” she yells. She looks so different from that time at the wedding, when she had her hair in an updo, and she was wearing a nice dress. Now her hair is a mess and the way she looks at you scares you. There’s insanity in those big dark eyes.

“That’s enough!” Steve bellows.

The woman spits at him before she yells curses at him, pointing her thin finger at him, threatening to gut him. Bucky rolls his eyes before he walks over to her and slams his sword against the bars.

“Don’t make me come in there,” you hear Bucky threaten. The woman spits again but then sits down on the makeshift bed.

“Come along,” Clint says, walking in front of you with the torch. As you all follow him, the footsteps echo loudly. You hear some water dripping and a few mice running around. You shiver, trying to focus on not spilling any tea or porridge. Steve’s presence is reassuring, but you know that you’ll have to enter Jo’s cell alone. You try to breathe through your mouth, and you can understand why Jo is difficult down here.

“Here we are,” Bucky says. “We’ll wait here. You’ve got your dagger?”

You nod, looking at the cell you’re now standing in front of. You can vaguely see what looks like a bundle of clothing lying down on the ‘bed’, but when it moves you realize it’s a little girl curled up in a little ball.

“Just say the word and we’ll get you out,” Steve says, pressing his mouth against your temple.

You lean against him, closing your eyes. “I know.”

Bucky opens the door for you, and you step inside the cell. You put down the tray and accept the candle Bucky has also gotten for you. You put it down next to the bed and you take the tray, sitting down next to Jo with it.

“Jo?” you ask softly.

The little girl sniffles but doesn’t respond. You want to reach over to her and smooth her blonde hair, but you know that wouldn’t go well. When you were upset and in an almost comatose state in your bed you didn’t want anyone touching you. So, you just pick up the cup of tea, blowing on it as it steams.

“We met earlier. You gave me flowers,” you say.

The girl moves a bit, still not saying anything.

“Do you know who I am?”

You see her shaking her head, her little face that’s stained with tears bathing in the candlelight.

“My name is Y/N. Y/N Rogers. I’m the Queen of this palace now. I want to help you because I think you need that. Will you let me help you?”

Another tear trickles down her cheek.

“I’ve brought some food with me. I know you’re hungry, you haven’t eaten in a while. And I doubt that when you were with HYDRA, they gave you enough to eat. It’s just tea and porridge.”

You see her stiffen. Slowly she sits up, rubbing her face. “Mom makes me porridge.”

You sigh, relieved, and you hear Bucky curse from where the men are standing. “Goddamnit, she’s done it,” you hear him say with a bit of awe in his voice. You scowl in his direction.

“Here,” you say, handing her the bowl and the spoon. She looks at you for a while, trying to figure out what’s going on, before she scoops a bit of porridge on her spoon and brings it to her mouth.

“There you go,” you encourage. “Well done, Jo. I’m assuming that _is_ your name.”

She nods while she brings another spoonful to her mouth. She’s so tiny next to you and it breaks your heart. She puts the bowl away when she notices your staring.

“Can I go home now?” she asks.

You swallow thickly. “Where do you live, Jo?”

“In a house.”

“With who?”

Jo looks at you, a bit confused. She’s so young, she just doesn’t understand you need more information. “Mom and dad.”

“That woman… who you came to the wedding with, is she your mom?”

Jo shakes her head.

“Can you tell me what happened? Why you were with that woman?”

“Mom got sick and then dad too and they went to sleep,” Jo blurts out. “A man came and took me and…”

Clint was right. An orphan. Nobody noticed Jo. Nobody looked after her. She was invisible. An easy target for HYDRA. She slipped right through the cracks. Taken from her home after her parents died for a mission, they knew she wasn’t going to come back from. HYDRA knew she would get captured or killed and sacrificed a child just to achieve their goal. And that terrible woman who tried to curse you made sure that happened. You want nothing more than to go to her and hurt her. You know deep down that the people responsible were the HYDRA leaders, but they’re not here. She is.

Jo still thinks there is a home to go back to. Parents to see again. She has no idea what’s going on. You slowly reach over to her, cupping her cheek. She doesn’t flinch. She looks at you with those big eyes.

“Oh, love,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

“Can I go home?” Jo asks, her eyes filling with tears. “I want to go home, please, let me go home. I want my mommy and daddy.”

When Jo starts to sob, you can’t do anything. You just sit there, your heart breaking for her. You know the pain; you know how terrible it is to feel so alone. You feel so helpless. Eventually, you hear the cell door opening and Jo stiffens next to you. It’s just Steve, but you know that she doesn’t know that he is to be trusted. You stand up, trying to hide that your eyes have filled with tears too.

“She needs to be moved to a room where a guard can watch her. She can’t stay down here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your understanding comments on my last update! <3 I'm so grateful to have you guys as my readers! 
> 
> I've finished my outline, I'll probably deviate from it a bit but it's there and I'm really excited! Y'all are getting at least fifteen more chapters, if not more! AAH! :D


	16. Chapter 15

Waking up next to Steve is a strange experience. You’ve now been married to him for a few days and you’re no longer so unsettled by the feeling of a wedding band on your finger. You’re reminded of the fact that you’re married in different ways. Like waking up pressed against a sleeping man.

Steve’s somebody who likes to cuddle, you’ve noticed that. He holds you close the entire night, burying his face in your neck like he’s the only one who can keep you safe. You don’t complain; he’s delightfully warm against you.

He’s no longer gardening every morning, so you get to wake up with him. Sometimes you’re up earlier and that gives you time to watch him. He’s so young when he’s asleep, so relaxed. You like looking at your sleeping husband but it also saddens you, because the moment he wakes up he’s tense again, already worrying about royal things. You wish he could be relaxed when he’s awake too.

You like kissing him, ignoring the morning breath. It’s nice to kiss him in the privacy of the bedroom, where you can just take your time and focus fully on him. But when you wake up this morning you know you’re in no state to give him a morning kiss. Your head feels fuzzy and your thoughts are hazy. You have a fever, that’s clear. Now it’s no longer nice to be held by Steve, he’s too warm, and you try to wriggle away. He’s strong though and he doesn’t let go easily, so you have to kick him to make him wake up and let you go.

“What’s going on, sweetheart?” he says, rubbing his eyes.

You let out a moan, pressing your face in the cool pillow, trying to go to sleep. You hate being sick and you know sleeping will help your body fight the illness. Steve presses his hand against your back underneath your nightgown and you hear him curse.

“You’re burning up, Y/N.”

You moan again, trying to get away from his hand. You don’t want anyone to touch you. Steve doesn’t get the message: he leans over you and presses a kiss at the back of your neck. You push him away, growling.

“All right, all right,” you hear him say. He gets out of the bed, keeping the curtains closed. He goes to the bathroom and brings you some water.

“Drink this, I’ll get some stuff. I’ll stay with you today,” he says, putting the glass down on the nightstand. “Sweetheart, come on, please.”

He has to help you sit up to drink a bit. The water is nice and cool, helping your sore throat. He looks at you worried when you hand him the empty glass. You know you look like shit and it’s probably a bit of a horrible sight for Steve who’s only seen you made up all pretty.

“You don’t have to do that,” you croak out. “I’ll be fine.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you.”

You don’t protest anymore. You can’t deny that it would be nice to have someone with you, to help you and get you the things you need. Darcy has a few days off and even if she was working, you doubt she would be much help. And you know that a day where Steve doesn’t have to deal with people who want his signature or want him to decide about something would be good for him. So, you watch as he dresses in his more casual clothes and listen as he tells you that he’ll get some breakfast and a brew that will help with the fever.

You eat a little bit of the breakfast he brings. You don’t have much of an appetite. Steve tries to get you to eat more but you just can’t. You’re already a bit nauseous. You drink the brew he’s brought you and then you just lie down, closing your eyes, willing yourself to go to sleep.

* * *

“I think it’s sweet.” A woman’s voice.

“Well, everybody knows he’s besotted with her. Did you see the way he looked at her at the wedding? I swear, that man wanted to eat her alive.” Another woman.

“It’s a good thing. When she came here, I thought it was just a business deal, but it seems there’s more to it.” The first woman again.

“Ladies, ladies, let’s not gossip,” a man says. “Polly, please tell me you’ve brought my bag with you.”

“Here you go.” The second woman.

You slowly open your eyes, immediately closing them again against the blinding light.

“She’s awake!” you hear the woman who’s not Polly exclaim. “Afternoon, your Majesty!”

“Not that loud,” the man scolds.

You feel a bit better than this morning. You open your eyes again, letting them adjust to the light before you sit up. Your whole-body aches and you still can’t think very clearly. Three people are standing next to your bed, a man dressed in the traditional healer garb and two women: a petite dark haired one and a woman of average length with tight curls. They’re both wearing uniforms you don’t recognize.

“My name is Jonathan,” the man says, bowing his head. “I’m the healer of this palace. We haven’t met yet.”

You nod, not saying anything because of your sore throat. You quickly look around the room. Steve’s not here.

“He just went to get another book from the library,” the petite woman says. Scratch that, Polly. You recognize her voice.

“These are my assistants, Martha and Polly,” Jonathan says, pointing to the women. “They’re learning everything there is to know about being a healer.”

You try to hide your surprise at learning that the two women will be healers someday. You’ve never met a female healer before. Only medicine women, people that healers laughed at and called witches. Martha notices.

“It’s a new initiative from the King,” she explains.

“So, your Majesty, your husband told us that you woke up with a fever and that you’ve slept the whole morning. What other symptoms are you experiencing?” Jonathan asks, sitting down on the bed next to you, maintaining a comfortable distance between you and him.

“My throat hurts, I have a headache and my body just hurts. My muscles ache,” you whisper. “The brew Steve brought helped.”

“Good to hear,” Jonathan says. “So, ladies, after hearing the symptoms, what do you think is going on with the Queen?”

You glance at Martha and Polly. Martha is the first to answer: “Simple flu that will probably pass in a few days.”

Polly nods. “Flu, but it’s probably mostly exhaustion. Wedding planning is though.”

“Tell me about it!” Martha says, laughing. She turns to you: “We have some herbs that would speed up the recovery, your Majesty.”

“That would be nice,” you hear someone say. You look at Steve, who has opened the door and is carrying a pile of books. “Hey, sweetheart.”

You don’t miss the way Polly and Martha glance at each other. Jonathan nods at Steve, taking some stuff out of his bag and handing it over with specific instructions. They get their things and then leave. Steve climbs in the bed next to you, putting his hand against your forehead.

“How are you feeling?”

“Terrible,” you say, turning to him and putting your head on his chest. “Thanks for staying with me. Wasn’t it boring?”

“I got to catch up with my reading,” Steve says. He rubs your back slowly. “You can go back to sleep.”

You groan. “I’m not tired anymore.”

“Do you want to read something? I’m sure I have something that you’ll like,” Steve offers.

“No. I wouldn’t be able to focus.”

You just lie there on his chest, focusing on your body and the fever that is still there, only now presenting itself in waves of feeling hot and then cold. You’re more nauseous now than you were this morning and you know it’s only a matter of time before you’re going to have to run to the bathroom to throw up.

The thought of throwing up makes you remember the tales your mother told you of being pregnant with you and Tony. She always brought it up when one of you misbehaved, talking about how you used to drive her insane by kicking and making her so sick that she couldn’t leave her room. Only three times did she leave her room while she was pregnant with Tony, two times when she was pregnant with you. And every time, without fail, did she throw up over herself or someone else. If you get pregnant, you hope you’ll have a better pregnancy. The thought of being locked up in a room, sick all the time, is incredibly unappealing to you.

You could be pregnant right now. You had sex a few days ago so there could be a clump of cells inside of you, slowly forming itself into a baby, _your_ baby. You know that it’s a tiny chance, but it’s still a chance. If you were pregnant right now, would your sickness affect that tiny baby, would it get hurt or damaged? You don’t know much about pregnancy, only the basic facts that your mother told you about when she gave you ‘the talk’. If only you were like Martha and Polly, taught about the ways the body works by a healer. You hate not knowing, but you also hate coming across as dumb and overanxious. There’s no way in hell that you’re leaving this room to find one of the three or even ask Steve to fetch them. Explaining that you’re worried that your flu might affect a baby that is probably not even there would be embarrassing.

Steve notices something’s going on. The man’s ability to notice everything all the time leaves you in awe. He presses a kiss against your hair. “What are you thinking about?”

You press your nose in his tunic. “It’s nothing.”

You know he’s not buying it, but you don’t want to talk about it. Talking about babies, babies that would be yours and his, seems to intimate. You quickly change the subject, hoping he’ll drop it. “Aren’t you worried that you’ll get sick?”

“I made a vow, remember? In sickness and health.”

“That doesn’t mean you literally have to hold me. I’m really gross,” you sigh out, pressing your hand against your cheek. Another hot wave.

“I’m not bothered,” Steve says. You look up at him, seeing the truth in his eyes. He truly doesn’t care that you’re all over him, all sweaty and sticky. You roll your eyes at him and he laughs loudly, making your entire body shake.

“I mean it, I’m there for you,” Steve continues. “I like taking care of you. And this gives me a chance to spend some time with you throughout the day. I still have some things that I want to talk to you about.”

You close your eyes, settling against him now he’s no longer laughing. “Like what?”

“Marriage. I really… really want this to work out between us. It’s a bit silly, to talk about it like that, but my mother always told that marriage is a contract. There’s love too, but it can only work if rules and things like that are established. So that’s what I want to do…”

“You want to make rules?”

“Not like that. I just…” Steve rubs his beard, looking away from you. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to do anything that you don’t like. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or feel unsafe. And I’m assuming you don’t want to hurt me either. We didn’t really have the most convention marriage and we didn’t really talk about boundaries, so I think we should do that now. Boundaries, non-sexual and sexually.”

You’re incredibly hot now, but not because of your sickness.

“We slept together, and I hope I didn’t hurt you or forced you to do anything you didn’t want to do…” Steve starts.

“No! I… I liked it,” you admit, a bit sheepishly. “Couldn’t you tell?”

“It’s just that you were very nervous beforehand. With the drink,” Steve says. “I thought that maybe you felt pressured to do something that night.”

You stiffen a bit, remembering how you made a fool of yourself by chugging that drink down. God, how stupid. Yes, you were nervous, but Steve never pushed you into doing anything. When you slept with him you wanted it, you wanted him, and you loved every moment of it. You lean up, pressing a heated kiss against his mouth. “I wanted it to happen and I’m happy it did.”

He breathes out in relief. “Okay, that’s good to hear. But still, we need boundaries. Do you have anything that you can think of that you’re not comfortable with?”

You try to imagine him doing something to you that you don’t like. Sexually. You don’t really know what he wants to do to you. What happened that night was nice, and you liked everything. You shake your head. “Can I tell you when we get there?”

“Always. Always. You can tell me no, always, and I promise you I will listen.”

“I know that, Steve,” you say. “Do you have anything that you don’t like?”

He strokes your hair, pulling you even closer. “Not right now. I’m not incredibly fond of being really intimate in public. That kiss at the wedding was nice, but it was awkward, being watched by so many people. It’s something between the two of us, not us and the entire court. But I got the feeling you don’t like that either.”

“Correct,” you say, closing your eyes again.

“Do you want another glass of water?”

You shake your head. You’re not that thirsty and you don’t want him to leave you, even if it’s just for a few minutes. You’re being clingy, you suddenly realize. God, Natasha would make fun of you if she was here right now. Pregnant women are often clingy, right? You groan a bit. Cut it out, Y/N, you tell yourself, you’re acting insane. Steve strokes your hair again, worried about the groan you let out. Before you know it, you’re asleep again.

* * *

There’s dinner when you wake up. It’s late at night and Steve’s already eaten, so he helps you eat your soup. You insist that you don’t need his help, but he doesn’t listen. He’s careful not to spill even a tiny bit on you and it’s honestly endearing. He would make a good father someday. Calm, kind, funny, caring but still strong enough to stand up against a rebellious child. Any child would be lucky to be raised by him. He would certainly be a much better father than your own.

You love your father, but you have to admit he had his flaws. A bit too strict, only rarely allowing himself to show some weakness. He was a better father to you than he ever was to Tony, you know that. You were a daddy’s girl, Tony mommy’s favorite, only making everything worse. Your mother didn’t like that you hung around your father and filled your head with progressive ideas, your father didn’t like that his son and heir was so soft and vulnerable because of your mother’s influence. Their marriage had not been without issues and that hadn’t gone unnoticed by you and your brother.

You push away the voice that tells you that you’re betraying your parents’ memories by thinking about their flaws. It would be unfair to remember them incorrectly, you tell that little voice, it would be stupid to make them saints after their death and deny the damage they did. You know Tony suffered more than you did, although he doesn’t like to talk about it. You love them and wish they were here. But you can still admit that they weren’t best parents. You’re determined to be better. You don’t want a daughter or a son to worry about their parents’ marriage or parenting.

Steve puts the now empty bowl away and asks you if he can get you anything. You suddenly know what you want to do. You’re feeling a bit better and clear headed enough to do what you’ve been unconsciously putting off for the last few days.

Sending a letter to Natasha.

Steve helps you out of the bed on shaky legs to his desk where he gets you the things you need. He gives you his bottle of red ink and you’re immediately worried. What if Tony sees Natasha’s letter and falsely thinks you’re asking for help? Steve raises one eyebrow when you say you need some green ink, but he fetches it for you. What you did to deserve a man like him, you don’t know.

You begin your writing.

_Dearest Natasha,_

_Thank you for your necklace and your note. I really love it and I’m honored you’ve gifted it to me._

_I’m assuming Tony and Pepper have returned and you’ve heard all about what has happened at the wedding. I’m fine. I’ll admit it was a shock, I’m just incredibly lucky that General Maximoff was close by. The rest of the wedding went well, I wore your necklace. I would have preferred it if you had been there in person, though._

_I don’t really know what more to write to you. We’ve never written to each before and I miss our conversations, the way our words just flowed, and we could tell each other everything. Writing down a conversation that seems one-sided on paper changes everything. Nothing comes naturally. I try to imagine you here in front of me but then I keep wondering if you’ve changed. Have you cut your hair? I remember that you always loved to change the way you wore your hair every few months. I just wish you were here, and you could drop by, to tell me about what you’ve been up to. And I hope that you also feel that desire. I’m being incredibly vulnerable right now, please know that. I want our friendship to remain, but I also don’t want to push you. I know it’s hard for you. I’ll wait, I’ll be so patient, Tasha, I promise, I’m just asking you to promise me that it will eventually be worked out. I can’t stand the thought of never seeing you again._

_I hope you’ll forgive my rambling, I’m sick, I’ve been in bed all day and I’m going to sleep now. Love you,_

_your Y/N_

You wait for the ink to dry before you fold up the letter. You look at Steve, who’s now on the bed again, reading. He’s changed in his sleeping clothing, giving you your privacy to write the letter. You’re grateful. You have no idea how he would react if he read the letter, especially since he knows that you and Natasha were once in love and that she still harbors feelings for you. It’s not like you’re a cheater or that you’re regretting marrying him, you just really miss her. For so many years she was a presence in your life that you could count on, somebody you trusted with your life. Now that she’s not there it’s like a part of you has been misplaced.

You stumble over to the bed. Steve seems to notice you’re exhausted so he gets a paste that he was told to apply on your chest. You watch as his warm fingers rub it on your skin, so close to your breasts. You’re in no state to sleep with him right now, but that doesn’t mean you can’t think of him on top of you, inside of you, pressed against you. Steve chuckles when he looks at you and your flushed cheeks.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing that needs to be said aloud,” you say hoarsely.

He leans over you, pressing his lips against yours. Before the kiss can get too heated, he pulls away. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”


	17. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! The heat wave over here didn't really help. I wasn't satisfied with my writing so I rewrote this chapter over and over. I'm pleased with it now, still a bit anxious about what you guys will think of it, especially the revelation at the end of this chapter! <3

The fever only worsens your dream. You’re swimming in a pond, something incredibly unladylike. You’ve done it before with Natasha when she pulled you along on an adventure. You got the horses ready and just left, no end destination picked out. It was more about the journey than the destination, after all. And sometimes you swam, nude, hidden away. Natasha always made sure that the only one who saw your naked body was she.

Now, everything’s different. Natasha is there, undressing so she can join you and you look away. You’ve seen her naked so many times, but it feels wrong this time. She laughs loudly when she notices and steps in the pond, straightening her back to show you her breasts. You look around at the nature surrounding you, you really can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched. You shiver, going a bit lower so anyone hiding there can only see your throat and head. Nothing more.

Natasha doesn’t care. She’s close now, a few steps away from you. She stares at you and then goes underwater. You know she can hold her breath for a long time so it’s only after a few minutes that you realize something is wrong. She’s not coming up. You can vaguely see a bit of red hair underneath the water surface. You take a deep breath and go underwater too, trying to help her with whatever is going on. You can’t see. You reach out, hoping you’ll grab her hand or her arm, but she’s nowhere to be found.

Two arms wrap around you from behind you. Your heart starts beating faster and you start to kick but then you recognize whose arms they are. Tasha. She was just playing with you, you realize. A bit relieved you try to push up, to get some air and then yell at her for scaring you. But she’s not letting you go. Her grip on you is like iron and she’s only pulling you down with her. You’re starting to feel a bit lightheaded, you need oxygen, but it doesn’t seem like you’re getting some anytime soon. You start to fight her, but she’s stronger, she has always been so much stronger than you. The only times you ever won was when she allowed it, when she wanted you to be on top. You don’t stand a chance. You don’t give up though, the thought that you’re going to drown giving you the energy to kick and trash again. It’s starting to get dark – how deep is this pond – and you feel her teeth against your ear, her naked body pressed against yours, pulling you with her to the abyss. Slowly your body starts to give up, you’re trapped, you can’t do anything but scream inside your head. You don’t have any air left, you’re going to die, Tasha’s going to kill you, your friend, your former lover, the person you trust so much has betrayed you. You want to scream, you want to claw at her, you want to cry, but you can’t, you can’t do anything, your body is failing and soon everything will just stop, everything ends, because isn’t part of the journey the end, wasn’t that what your brother said at the funeral of your parents?

“Y/N!”

When you open your eyes it’s dark and somebody’s hand is on your cheek. You need a moment to register that you’re in the bedroom that you share with your husband and that said husband is stroking your cheek, trying to calm you down. Your entire body is shaking, sweating. You take in deep breaths, trying to convince yourself that you’re not drowning, that it was just a dream.

“Hey, hey, sweetheart, you’re safe, you’re here with me,” you hear Steve say from far away. Tears are streaming down your face; your entire head is pounding. This wasn’t just any ordinary nightmare, the fever made it even more horrible. You feel a wave of nausea and you try to pull away from him, but it’s too late. Before you know it, you’ve vomited all over the bedsheets, trembling, immediately feeling so much better now that the little food you’ve eaten yesterday is out of your body. The feeling only lasts for a moment before you realize that you’ve probably thrown up all over Steve too. God, you’ve made such a fool over yourself. First, you had a nightmare and if that wasn’t worse enough, you did that. You immediately burst into tears again, apologizing again and again.

Steve doesn’t leave. He doesn’t leave your side or the soiled bed. He moves even closer, trying to brush the strands of hair that are now plastered to your sweaty skin away. “Tell me what you need, honey. Please.”

You shake your head, not really knowing why. You just want to be better again; you just want to feel normal. You don’t want nightmares; you don’t want to feel this way. It’s not fair, that you’re struggling this much, that you’ll probably never become normal again. What did you do to deserve this? Why were you broken so badly and why can’t you just be fixed? You hiccup. “I just want to be… better.”

“It’s all right, it’s going to be all right. Come on, do you want a bath?”

You shake your head. You don’t want to be in a tub filled with water after that nightmare. But Steve still wants to clean you up. He carried you to the bathroom, stroking comforting circles over your trembling back as he sets you down. He gets some towels that he gets wet so he can clean your face and your arms and armpits. You’re too distraught to even notice it tickles when he does that. He gets you to drink some water and then sits you down next to the window that he opens for some fresh air. You put your head against the wall, closing your eyes, wishing everything would just stop.

When Steve enters the bathroom again, he’s not alone. It takes some time before you notice who the woman is, it’s Wanda. She looks so different in her feminine nightgown. Her hair is down and she’s not wearing the kohl around her eyes that she uses to intimidate. She’s so young and beautiful and you’re just sitting there, smelling like vomit and feeling incredibly heavy. She smiles at you, gently. Steve leaves again and she helps you get fully out of your nightgown and get you into a new one. She explains in that peculiar accent of hers that she heard the commotion. You’ve never realized how close her bedroom is. She reassures you that everything’s going to be all right and that you’ll be sleeping in her bed tonight. Before you can say anything, Steve is in front of you again and he’s scooping you up in his arms, carrying you to Wanda’s bedroom that smells of incense. There you curl up under the blankets, so incredibly exhausted that you don’t register anything of the conversation between Steve and Wanda. Her bed is soft. That’s all that matters for now.

* * *

When you wake up nobody’s there. It’s late in the morning again. Your sleep cycle is all messed up now, it’s going to be a hard task to get back in your normal rhythm. You sit up, still feeling sluggish, but no longer nauseous. Still a bit tired.

Wanda’s room is neat, save from the books that seem to be on every surface in the room. There’s a guitar, which surprises you, and her desk is filled with letters. Above it hangs a single sketch and you immediately recognize it as Steve’s work. It’s a drawing of Wanda and another man that you assume is her twin brother, Pietro, laughing, looking at each other. It must have been made back when Pietro was still alive. Maybe when Peggy Carter was alive too. A whole different time.

After a while, Steve gets there. He brings a brew for you and makes you eat at least one slice of bread. Wanda is busy, he tells you when you ask him where she is so you can thank her for allowing you to sleep in her bed. Where did they sleep, you ask, and he tells you that he and Wanda camped out in Bucky’s room. “A big sleepover. We used to do those when we were children,” he says, smiling at you.

“You could have just stayed here with me,” you whisper.

“I thought you needed some space, sweetheart. Whenever… whenever I have nightmares, I just want to be left alone. I thought you… I assumed… god, I should have asked. I’m sorry.”

“It was fine. I was so out of it; I probably wouldn’t have even noticed if you had been there. I… I thought you…” you swallow thickly. “…were kind of repulsed with me after last night.”

He groans, quickly leaning over you to press a kiss on your forehead. “Never. You’re my wife, remember?”

You hope he doesn’t notice the way your body shudders when he says that. It’s the good kind of shudder. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. He climbs into the bed with you, pulling you in his arms, which helps. Being in his arms, touching him, always helps. It pushes the bad thoughts away, the voices that tell you that you’re just not good enough. You bury your face in the space between his shoulder and neck to breathe in his scent.

When Wanda comes in, you’re asleep again and Steve is rubbing circles on your back, comforting you as you whimper.

* * *

It takes you some time to get better. Jonathan brings potions that help, but in the end, you just have to rest. It’s a bit boring to stay in bed all day, but you’ve got Steve to keep you company whenever he manages to get away from Coulson. You read some books and ask Steve to make sure Natasha gets your letter.

When you’re not fully recovered, but you can walk around and you’re getting dressed again, you ask Jo if she wants to come visit. You’ve listened to the reports Bucky gave Steve about the girl. According to Bucky, Jo seems a bit sullen and doesn’t do much. Just like you, she’s mostly confined to her room and you know what she’s going through.

“C’mon, I just want to play a card game with her,” you beg Steve. “Clint can come and sit next to us if he wants.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling well enough for that, sweetheart?”

“Yes. I’ll stay in bed; she can come and sit next to me. I’ll just have to hold a few cards up and I’m strong enough for that,” you say, scoffing at him.

He sighs but eventually asks Clint to bring Jo over.

Jo looks better. She’s wearing clothes that are definitely borrowed: they’re definitely not her own clothes. She doesn’t mind though; she’s quite taken by the balloon sleeves on the gown she’s wearing. She looks a bit apprehensive when she enters the bedroom but as soon as she sees you, she relaxes.

“Hello, Jo,” you croak, waving at her. “Come on, want to play a game with me?”

She climbs on the bed, sitting next to you. Clint is standing in the door opening and you smile at him. As soon as he sees that he leaves, closing the door behind him. You take a sip from the glass of water on your nightstand before speaking to Jo.

“So, I really wanted to come and see you earlier, but I got sick,” you explain.

She looks at you, frowning. “Are you going to sleep forever?”

It takes a moment before you realize what she’s talking about and you rush to explain to her that you’re not dying, that it’s just the flu and that you’ll be up and running in a few more days. She isn’t easily convinced so you just decide to distract her by getting the cards.

Your father taught you how to play cards. It was one of the few times that he allowed himself to relax, to not put on his stern face. He always laughed, enjoying seeing his daughter get better at the game, eventually managing to beat him. Because of that you will always associate happiness with playing cards. Just by holding the cards you’re transported back to that room filled with books. You can almost hear the fire crackling in the fireplace, and you see your father bring the glass of wine to his lips.

You explain the rules to Jo. She’s excited, you can see that. It’s like a punch to the gut when you realize that playing cards is probably one of the few fun things she’s done in the last months. After being abducted by HYDRA and forced to be a pawn in their vile games playing a game must be amazing. She breaks some rules, accidentally, and you explain to her gently that that’s not how the game works. Eventually she gets the hang of it and you let her win. The look on her little round face is worth it.

“When can I go home?” she finally asks.

You look up from your cards. “Oh, honey…”

What can you say? You have no idea when or even if. Maybe there are a few far away relatives still alive and you know Steve is busy finding out if they exist, but it’s not a very big chance. It’s much more likely that she’s all alone in this world and that eventually she’ll be sent away to some orphanage. You know what’s it like there. She’ll be eaten alive.

Your parents are dead. Technically, you are an orphan. You’ve never called yourself that. Your parents were a huge part of your life and when they died a gigantic hole was left, but you weren’t alone. In your mind, an orphan is someone like Jo, young, helpless. You have a brother, a sister-in-law, friends, other relatives that live far away. You’re older, you’re married now. You’re not being shipped away to some orphanage.

Jo looks at you, waiting for an answer.

“I don’t know,” you say. It’s the truth. “Do you miss your home a lot?”

“I miss mom and dad.”

Of course. You’re an idiot. She probably misses her own bed, but what she misses the most are her parents. The people who loved her, cared for her, probably told her stories before bedtime and made sure she ate and drank enough.

Home.

It’s not about the place, it’s about the people.

You don’t really miss the Stark palace. You miss everybody who lives there. You miss the life that you had there, you suddenly realize. The almost carefree life. Going on adventures with Natasha, pecking her on the lips when nobody was watching. Playing card games with your father, listening to your mother’s sermons about being a well-behaved lady, avoiding your governess. Throwing cherries with Tony and spending afternoons with Pepper where all you did was gossip.

Most of all, you miss the Y/N you used to be. The girl who laughed all the time, who didn’t care about other people’s opinion. The girl who didn’t have episodes where it was impossible to get out of bed.

The girl that wasn’t broken.

You play another game with Jo, who is really enjoying herself. You ask a chambermaid to get you some tea and leftover cake. Jo is still a bit timid about eating in front of you and when you ask her about it, she murmurs something about the bad men. She says it so softly that you realize she’s afraid. She doesn’t feel safe. You can’t blame her. HYDRA is good at its job and there’s a chance that a few of their men are walking around the castle. And that horrible woman is still down there in the dungeons. You wonder how she’s doing, if she’s still cursing everybody that walks by. Is she doubting her loyalty towards HYDRA or is she still convinced that what she did was the right thing, that killing you would have been something good? You’ll never know, because you won’t go down there and ask her. Never again will you willingly look that woman in the eyes again.

Jo nibbles on another slice of cake and you put down your cards to ask her: “You know that if you want something, like a book or some drawing supplies or… I don’t know… you can ask for it, right?”

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“I really want you to feel a little bit at home. I know that’s hard and I’m not asking you to well… see this is as your new home, but your stay here should at least be comfortable,” you say.

She nods, not looking you in the eye. You sigh and she notices, immediately looking up.

“I have good luck,” she blurts out suddenly.

“Excuse me?”

She reaches over to the satchel she brought with her and then she brings her fist up, waiting until she knows she has your attention to slowly open her hand to show you what she’s holding. Two four-leaved-clovers.

“Where did you get those?” you ask her, admiring the tiny things.

“In the garden,” she says. “I found them both. I have good luck now.”

You nod. “That’s right.”

You stop playing the card game, she’s no longer paying any attention. She’s more content to sit next to you, looking at her clovers and drinking a bit of the tea that’s now cool enough for her to drink. You reach over to stroke her hair and you close your eyes for a moment, imagining that you’re stroking the hair of your daughter. Maybe you’ll have a daughter someday, it’s very much possible. You’ll play card games with her and you’ll garden with her and Steve. Tell her stories about your childhood and braid her hair. You’ll do your best to be a good mother, but you know without a doubt that the person you used to be would be a better mother. A happier mother. A mother with more faith in humanity, a mother without nightmares. Instead of your daughter having nightmares, you’ll be the one crying out every night.

If only there was a way to become that Y/N again. Something like a magic spell, a portal to step through to go back to the happier times. To hug your mother and your father, to see Natasha again, to laugh with the young and carefree Tony. If there was a portal like that here, you know that you’d step through it. Without a doubt.

When Jo leaves eventually, she hugs you so brief that when you realize what’s happening, she’s already running to Clint who’s standing there, raising his eyebrows. They leave, Jo holding her clovers close to her and Clint nodding at you. As soon as the door closes you bury your head in the pillow. You really underestimated how exhausting playing cards with Jo would be. But you’re not going to admit to Steve that he was right.

When Steve comes in, you’re half asleep and the look in his eyes when he kneels down next to your bed tells you that he’s silently gloating. He’s too much of a gentleman to tell you that he told you so, but it’s pretty clear that’s what he’s thinking. You grab his hand, squeezing it softly.

“So, what was it like?” he asks, seemingly massaging your knuckles.

“She was sweet. She wanted to know when she can go home.”

“We’re working on that,” Steve says. He strokes your hair. “How are you feeling?”

You yawn a bit and he chuckles at that, leaning down to press his lips against yours. The moment his beard brushes against your skin, you suddenly remember the portal you were fantasizing about.

The portal to a life without Steve, that you would love to step through. When you feel his lips against yours and his hand cupping your cheek, keeping you close, you suddenly panic. It’s hard to breathe when you’re so disgusted at yourself for the desire to leave Steve behind.

You’re a horrible woman. How many women would kill to have your life? You’re rich, you have a husband who’s been nothing but kind to you, you have friends, you have dresses and you’re never hungry. Some people can’t afford to go to a healer, and you have one who comes at your beckon.

Steve, the man who’s currently enjoying kissing you, loves you. You know that. He knows that you’re not there yet, but that you like him. But he has no idea of your desire to go back. It’s a kind of cheating, right? He thinks he has a wife that will eventually fall in love with him, a wife who enjoys being kissed, when she’s just lying there, daydreaming about the past? You can’t say anything or do anything. The only thing that you can do is lie there, wait until the kiss is over before you can run to the bathroom to rinse your mouth, to yell at yourself for your selfishness.

Steve notices. You’re tensed up underneath him and you’re not at all responding to the kiss. He pulls away, flustered. “Sweetheart?”

You slowly open your eyes, reminding yourself to breathe. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You don’t know that,” you snap at him, sitting up so you can get out of bed. He offers his hand to help you, but you push him away. You don’t want him touching you, you can’t. You can’t stand his gentle touch when you’ve betrayed him.

You’re such a disappointment. To your parents, to Steve, to yourself.

You walk to the bathroom, forcing yourself to walk at a normal pace. You can’t show him how panicked you are. You don’t look at him, locking the door behind you. You never get to see the look on his face, a mixture of hurt and confusion.

* * *

After dinner, that you eat in your room _alone_ , someone knocks on your door. You look up from your novel. Steve doesn’t knock. Maybe it’s Clint? Or Bucky, looking for Steve?

“Come in!”

The door opens and you can’t help the smile that appears on your face when you realize who it is. It’s Darcy. She’s dressed in one of her day dresses, her hair up.

“Well, good evening, sleeping beauty,” she says, her voice teasing. “So, what’s it like… being married?”

Even though Darcy annoys you, you did miss her when she was on her time off. Her sarcastic comments and unwavering support… you didn’t appreciate it until you had to miss it.

She jumps on your bed, reaching over to pull down your nightgown a bit so she can see the fading marks. She squeals. “What was it like?”

“What was what like?”

“The sex, off course! Come on, you have to let me know what he’s like in bed, please, please, please! That’s what friends are for.”

“I don’t kiss and tell, Darcy,” you murmur to her, pretending to not be bothered as you turn over a page. You can just feel her roll her eyes at you while you try to focus on reading the first line.

“Was it just putting it in there, or did he do mouth and finger stuff? Y/N!” she cries while she scoots even closer, almost lying in your lap. You look down at her. She looks different, but you can’t put your finger on what’s different.

“Darcy!” you mock her. “I’m not telling you.”

A part of you wants to talk about it. Giggling like teenager girls about the sex. You have nobody else to share the details with. But you know Darcy loves to gossip and you don’t feel up to having everybody in the palace talking about what exactly happened. But Darcy doesn’t take no for an answer and she grabs the book out of your hands, scrambling off the bed. She waits for you to get out too and then she holds it over your head, giggling.

“Darcy, give me my book back, come on!”

“I’ll give it back when you tell me about the sex!”

 “Darcy! Do you want me to tackle you?” you threaten, putting your hands on your hips.

She rolls her eyes at you. “Like you could do that.”

You can tackle someone. You’ve done it so many times before. But you know that she’ll hit the ground pretty hard on the stone floor and you don’t have the energy to fight her right now. You still feel a bit shaky. You shrug and walk over to the window, looking outside at the courtyard. It’s nightfall and not many people are out there. You see a few maids walking out there, carrying baskets on their hips and you hear someone yelling.

“I heard you’re sick. Is it real or just an excuse to stay in bed with Steve?” Darcy asks from behind you.

“It’s real.”

“Well, you should have taken better care of yourself. Everybody was saying that. You were just too stubborn to listen.”

You chuckle. She’s described you to a T. You hear her heels clacking on the floor and then your book is put down on the windowsill. Her hand is on your shoulder and when you look at her you notice the apologetic look in her eyes.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you so much,” Darcy says. “Sorry. What happened is private.”

“It’s fine.” You reassure her, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. She looks at the people down there and you follow her gaze, noticing the person that she’s looking at. You didn’t notice him at first, but he’s there, leaning against the wall. It’s Bucky, talking to Sam who’s laughing. It’s the first time that you’ve seen them together without them arguing and you know that soon one of them will say something that will get the other all worked up. You want to chuckle at that but then you notice the pained expression on Darcy’s face.

“What’s going on, Darcy?” you ask her, the concern in your voice noticeable. “I know something’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing serious,” she says, closing the window before walking back to her chair. “It’s actually pretty stupid and embarrassing. So, if I tell you this, you’re going to have to promise you’ll keep your mouth shut, Sleeping Beauty, or I’ll cut you.”

You smirk at that threat. “I promise.”

“At the wedding, when you and Steve left to go to your room, I was talking to Bucky. You know I’ve liked him for some time now and we were having a great conversation. Everyone was dancing and I asked him if he wanted to dance and he said yes. We were doing really great and I thought that that night would be the night… well… when we could be honest about our feelings and stuff like that. Real sappy, I know. We went outside because it was getting really stuffy, which was his idea, so I thought he was just looking for an excuse to get me away from the crowd to kiss me, so I leant over to him and he just really softly pushed me away and told me he wasn’t… interested in me.”

You cringe at that. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing. We’re still friends and… like… I’m not the type to get hung up over a man. Really. I don’t want to be that kind of girl, but it still kind of hurts, to be rejected. I really thought we could become something.”

“You’re allowed to feel bad about it,” you say, sitting down next to her. “You’re a great woman, Darcy. You’ll find the one.”

“I’m not worried about that,” she says in a classical Darcy tone. You laugh at that and she laughs too. “It’s stupid. I should have seen that he’s in love with someone else.”

You frown at that. Bucky, in love with someone? You’ve never spent much time with him, but surely you would have noticed or heard if he was sweet on someone? Steve would have known, and he would have told you. Definitely. “Who? Wanda?”

Darcy laughs at that, almost hysterical. “Wanda? No, not Wanda. I’m talking about Sam, Y/N.”

Sam. Sam Wilson. Someone you’ve always considered Bucky’s reluctant ally. They both care about Steve, they both stand at his side and are his friend, but you’ve never heard them say a kind word to each other. But now that you think of it, the way they were standing there on that courtyard, laughing, the way they looked at each other.

“I realized it the moment Bucky left, and he went into that room and he walked over to Sam to poke fun at him. I don’t know if Bucky realizes he’s in love with Sam or that Sam realizes he’s in love with Bucky, but they are. They’re just too stupid… Ugh.”

Bucky. Bucky likes men. You wonder if Steve knows. Probably not, if Bucky is so oblivious to his own feelings. You also want to know if Bucky once harbored a crush on Steve. Maybe Bucky did but never said anything, knowing that they could never get married. Steve has to have children and if he married a man, he would never have those.

Darcy sighs. “I’m just avoiding Bucky now. It doesn’t matter. I have so many men who would love to court me.” She trails off, closing her eyes and putting her feet on the little table.

You sit down next to her, wanting nothing more than to hug her. Instead, you just put your hand on her knee, squeezing it through the fabric of her skirt. “I don’t doubt that, Darcy.”

She opens one eye and smiles at you.


	18. Chapter 17

When Steve takes out the canvas from wherever he put it away, you look at the woman drawn on there. You can’t help but smile at the sight of that girl. You remember how it felt to be drawn by Steve, how intimate it was.

You’re back on the stool, sitting upright, the tiara on your head. You finally feel good again. Jonathan hasn’t cleared you, so you still have to take it easy, but you can sit there and have Steve work on your royal portrait. There’s an empty spot next to Steve’s portrait and you know it will have to be filled soon.

Today it’s time to really paint. You watch as he mixes some colors, looks at you, and then adds a bit more red. You swallow thickly, trying to ignore the discomfort that comes with being studied so thoroughly.

Steve hasn’t talked about your weird reaction to the kiss. He just ignored it. You’ve talked to him, slept next to him, allowed him to kiss your hand, but he hasn’t made a move to kiss you on the lips. You know he’s not going to, if you want him to kiss you, you’ll have to be the one to initiate it. You know you should be grateful that he’s such a gentleman, but it just makes you feel even guiltier for not being able to love him as you should.

Steve is busy with his painting. He has no idea of the turmoil inside of your head. It isn’t the first time you’ve marveled at how easy it is to hide what’s going on inside of you. It makes you wonder what other people are thinking and are going through. Maybe somebody close to you is going through something terrible… how would you know?

Steve looks up and you quickly force yourself to smile. He squints at you but then returns to his canvas. “You still look a bit pale, honey,” he says.

“I feel fine,” you lie.

Well, it’s not a total lie. Physically you feel fine. It’s not really exhausting to sit down. Mentally, you don’t feel fine. You don’t know what you have to do to feel mentally fine again. You’ve slept a lot, even Steve commented on how much you stay in bed, you’ve eaten and drank enough, every day you sat outside for a bit. Maybe there’s just no cure. Maybe these… moods… will just stay with you forever. The pain, the horror, the guilt, the sadness, always weighing you down.

Steve’s not convinced. It’s like he can always see right through you and it is a bit terrifying. You avoid looking him into the eyes, instead  focusing on the painting of Steve’s mother. You wonder what kind of a person she was and if she would have liked you. Everything that you’ve heard about her is positive. A young woman, not a small-town girl but also not a noblewoman, in love with the crown prince. She too must have had a hard time adjusting to a life in the palace. Off course, a bit different from you, you were used to a big palace and the luxuries that come with being part of a royal family, but still. Maybe she could have comforted you or talked to you about marriage and how to be a good wife. Maybe.

Steve notices what you are looking at and he sighs. “She would have loved you.”

“Really?”

“Yes. She was always telling me I should find a nice girl to marry and every time I even was in the same room with someone from the opposite sex of the same age, she would start planning the wedding. If… if she had been alive when you arrived here, she wouldn’t have left you alone for a moment.”

You giggle at that. “She sounds… lovely.”

“A bit overbearing sometimes, but she had her reasons. I was sick a lot as a child and was always putting myself at risk. She just ran after me with Bucky, trying to keep me from killing myself,” Steve says. He sighs, again. “She just wanted me happy and safe. Preferably with a wife and a couple of grandchildren for her to spoil.”

You smile. “My mother wasn’t desperate to be a grandmother. Well, maybe she was, but she never showed it. She was happy when Tony married Pepper and I’m sure she would have loved to see Pepper pregnant when she was alive, but she never… never talked about wanting to see me married. Tasha told me that my father rejected all proposals and my mother always made sure to keep me away from anyone who wanted to court me. A bit overprotective maybe.”

Steve looks at you. “How old was she when she got married to your father?”

“I don’t know her exact age, but she was pretty young. She lived all across the country and then she was sent to the castle to marry dad…” You trail off. You never took your time to really think about your mother’s life. You know she knew your father before they married, they had met before, but they certainly weren’t in love. You want to believe that they fell in love with each other, but you doubt it. They had a strong partnership and they were fond of each other. Living together, raising two children…

Was her marriage what made your mother keep you away from any eligible bachelors? The only one who was interested in you and who she tolerated around you was Natasha. Emphasis on the word tolerate. You always assumed that that was because of Natasha’s gender. Never did you consider that she wanted to keep you from marrying young.

Well, you’re married. Young. To a man you didn’t know. Something she would consider a failure. And wasn’t she right? You’re in a palace in a country that still feels a bit foreign to you, married to a kind man who you just can’t seem to love. You’ve made nearly the same mistake that she did. How disappointed she must be. Gone is the idea that she’s proud of you, no, you’ve just added another weight on your shoulders.

Steve seems to notice, and he starts talking about a certain painting technique, but you just can’t focus on the words coming out of his mouth. Luckily, you don’t have to pretend you’re listening for very long because Bucky enters, not even bothering to knock.

“Oh, you two busy?” he says, before sitting down on one of the chairs next to the fireplace.

“Were you raised in a barn, Barnes?” Steve says, putting down his brush.

“You’re just going to use that little wordplay until you die, aren’t you? Anyway, I was just dropping by to see what you’re up to and I’ve come to deliver a letter for the missus.”

It takes a moment for you to realize that you’re the missus he’s talking about.

He holds up a letter and you reach over to grab it, immediately recognizing the handwriting on the envelope. It’s a letter from Natasha. You want to rip it open, but you know it wouldn’t be polite and you don’t want to get ink smudges on your gloves. You put the letter on your lap, willing yourself to be patient, while your heart beats harder than ever.

Bucky walks over to the canvas. “That’s beautiful. Much better than that portrait you made me when I was seven.”

“Hey, I was a beginner then,” Steve protests, but you know he knows that Bucky’s just teasing. You look at Bucky, who’s now explaining just how bad the portrait was, both men laughing loudly. You wonder if there ever was something between the two of them. It wouldn’t bother you, you’re just curious. You try to figure it out, studying the way Bucky puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder and squeezes, watching how Steve’s eyes sparkle as he talks about something from their childhood. You wonder if Steve has suspicions about the feelings Bucky has for Sam. Probably. Steve can see right through you, and you’ve only known him for a brief time. He and Bucky grew up together. They probably know each other better than they know themselves. That thought makes your heart ache and you look at the letter on your lap.

Natasha and you used to have a relationship like that. She always knew what you were thinking and just one look from her was enough to convey an entire conversation. You took the closeness, the friendship, the love, everything, for granted. You know that now. You only know how much you love something until it’s no longer there. Isn’t that what your uncle once told you?

You lift up the letter, trying to see how heavy it is. Not very much. You’re a bit disappointed. You poured out your heart's content in that last letter, you hope that it was received well by Tasha and that she wrote you an honest letter about her feelings. You reach up to touch the necklace that you’re wearing. Natasha’s necklace.

“See you at dinner, majesty,” Bucky says, pulling you out of your thoughts. He bows mockingly and you chuckle at that, holding up your hand to wave at him.

“You’re dismissed, soldier,” you tease him back and he winks at you, before leaving the room.

You put your hand down, touching the envelope.

“Do you want to take a break and read it?” Steve asks.

You want that. But you’re suddenly worried that the letter contains bad news. Maybe your brother died, or Pepper is ill, and the baby is in danger. Maybe Natasha hates you and never wants to talk to you again. Whatever it is, it isn’t real until you open that letter.

“No, I want to continue,” you say, putting the letter down next to your stool. You sit upright again, curling the corners of your mouth up, willing yourself to relax. “Steve? Tell me more about that painting technique.”

* * *

Darcy eats lunch with you.

Her hair is done all differently today and when you comment on it, she starts talking about this new maid who knows how to do incredibly complicated braids in record time.

“If you want, I can ask her to come and do your hair,” she offers while she puts some butter on her toast. The two of you are sitting in one of the parlors close to the windows and not many women are around, which keeps you from hearing whispers during the meal.

Sitting at a table with your maid, sharing food, laughing and treating each other as equals… god. Your relationship with Darcy was already curious when you were a princess, now that you’re the Queen of America it’s become even more unacceptable. Only two other ladies are there and they are too busy gossiping to notice you and Darcy. And even if they did, you would dare them to come up to you and say something. You’ve spent time with nearly all the noble ladies at the court here and found each and every one of them shallow, jealous, plain, cunning, annoying and frivolous. Darcy will someday be the cause of your grey hairs, but you love spending time with her, and you know she loves eating food.

Tasha’s letter is burning a hole in the satchel you brought with you. At least, that’s how it feels like. Darcy doesn’t miss the way you keep looking over to it and finally, she bends down to grab the satchel.

“What’s in here? A knife or something?”

The ladies look up from their cake, frowning. You roll your eyes at them.

“Darcy, put it back.”

She glares at you. “Don’t order me around, sleeping beauty.”

“It’s just a letter. Now give it back.”

Darcy hands over the satchel and you put it down under the table, safe again. She leans forward, her toast forgotten. “A letter from who?”

“Someone.”

“Someone special?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrow in such a suggestive manner that it makes you choke on your food.

“Not that kind of special,” you say. “You do know that I’m married, right?”

“I was there. Saw the two of you smooching on that altar. I’m just joking around. But seriously, who is it from and why are you carrying it around like that?”

“It’s from Natasha. And I still have to read it.”

Darcy presses her lips together. Then: “Weren’t you like constantly waiting for that letter? I was expecting you to tear it open the moment it was here.”

“I’m just scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of the unknown.”

She stares at you, realizing that it’s not the time to make a joke. She sighs, putting her hands down on the tablecloth. “Y/N. You’ve got to open that letter eventually.”

“I know. I’m just waiting for the right moment.”

“No moment is ever right,” she says. “I thought you knew that by now. Listen. Do you want me to open the letter and read it to you?”

You ponder that for a moment and then you reach for the satchel, handing it over to Darcy. You lean back, too nauseous to eat anymore. It seems like an eternity before Darcy has found the letter, opened the envelope. She scans it first and then she starts talking.

“Okay, so here it begins. Dear Y/N. I’m glad you liked the necklace. Tony and Pepper are back and did inform me about the wedding. It’s good to hear that you’re okay. Maximoff has excellent skills, make sure to thank her for saving your life. Okay… the next paragraph. I miss our conversations too. I haven’t my hair, but I’m thinking about doing it. It’s getting a bit too long when I’m training. I do want to stay friends with you too, Y/N. You’re not pushing me. Thank you for being patient. We will see each other again. Please, take care of yourself. Natasha.”

You look at Darcy, who folds the letter close again. You frown. “That’s it?”

“Yeah, that’s the end.”

“It’s that short?”

“Does she usually write longer letters? I took her for a person who always writes short letters.”

You reach over the table, snatching the letter out of Darcy’s hands. “You can’t call that a letter, that’s a note. Darcy. A frigging note.”

You look over the letter. Darcy didn’t lie, it really is that short. You look at Natasha’s handwriting. Written in a hurry. She just couldn’t wait until she was done writing some letter to you. Probably laughing at how pathetic your letter to her was. You take one last look at the paper and then you scrunch it up into one ball and throw it to the corner of the room with every last ounce of strength you have where it knocks over a teacup.

The taller lady squeals and Darcy looks at you, one eyebrow raised, obviously not used to you acting like this.

“Y/N,” she hisses. Then, her voice softer: “Come on, calm down. You’re reading too much into it. Just have another cup of tea or a sandwich, they’re really good.”

“I’m sorry, Darcy. I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite.”

* * *

Inside your closet, there’s a jewelry box, stashed under a pile of hats. There, together with the gifts you received from men who expressed interest in you and the few pieces your mother gave you, lies Natasha’s necklace.

* * *

When you enter the kitchen that evening, you’re hit by the warmth of the fire and a mixture of heavenly smells. The staff is busy; chopping vegetables, stirring the contents of a pan, running around to get plates and more. The cook you’ve met before is busy talking to a maid about something but the moment she sees you lingering in the door opening, she pushes the girl away and loudly yells: “Your majesty!”

What feels like at least forty eyes are on you. The cook walks over to you, grabbing your hands and squeezing them. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“I just wanted to see how dinner is coming along,” you ask. “What is on the menu tonight?”

“A lot. I made a big pot of chicken soup, do you want a taste, your majesty?” she asks, pulling you along before you can respond.

She lifts the lid of indeed a gigantic pan, and you close your ear, breathing in the amazing smell of chicken soup. You ate it a lot as a little child, Tony requested it a lot and your mother liked to eat soup to stay thin.

The cook gets a spoon and hands it to you. “Please, try it.”

A bit hesitant you get a full spoon of soup and you wait for it to cool down before you try it. It’s wonderful. A different recipe than that at home, but good, nonetheless. The fresh herbs really taste amazing. The cook looks at you, expectantly, and you smile again. “It’s… wow! You really should make this more often. I love it.”

She laughs at that and starts telling you about the recipe that she got from her mother, but you can’t focus. A lump is forming in your throat as you remember how you used to hide in the kitchen back home, how you used to play games there and knew the cooks by name. A wave of homesickness hits you and you have to support yourself against the wall to make sure you don’t fall over.

“Are you all right, your majesty?” the cook asks, reaching over to help you stand upright.

“I’m… it’s a bit hot in here,” you manage to croak out. “I’m sorry, I can’t be late.”

 You hurry away, forgetting to close the kitchen doors behind you. You want to run, but your skirts are in the way and you’re still not strong enough for that. You just walk at a fast pace, trying to get away, away from everything. You pass servants who look at you, obviously noticing that something is wrong, but you don’t stop for anyone. You just walk and walk until you’ve found a quiet dark corner and you curl up there, pressing your head against the cool stones, closing your eyes as the tears start trailing down your cheeks. You’re careful to not make a sound, you’re not completely alone after all, so you bring your hand to your mouth and bite it to stifle your sobs. Every time you think you’re almost finished you wipe away the tears only for your body to produce more. You’re a shaking mess and all you want to do is never leave that quiet corner. You sniffle and lick your cracked lips. The taste of chicken soup still lingers in your mouth.

* * *

After what seems like hours you manage to calm down.

You stand up, just focusing on your breathing for some minutes. You look around the hall that’s still completely empty and you open one of the doors. It’s a room, you’re guessing it belongs to one of the maids. It’s empty, the bed unkempt and a few opened letters on the bed stand. You look around and then walk over to the bowl with water and the cloth next to it that’s sitting there on the windowsill. You put the cloth into the water and then wash your face. There’s a mirror too that you use to fix your hair. You’re pale and your face is still a bit puffy, but you have been sick and you’re the Queen, so nobody will comment on that.

You have no idea what time it is, but you know that you’re probably already late for dinner. You leave the room, hoping the person who sleeps there won’t notice that you’ve entered. You wander around, still a bit lost inside this palace that is now your home. Eventually, you recognize a few paintings and you find Steve’s dining room.

When you enter, everybody stops talking. Everybody is seated around the table, already eating. There’s just one empty spot, your spot. You're hit with the sudden realization that nobody went looking for you when you didn’t turn up for dinner. Steve stands up, walking over to you to put his hand on your back and press a quick chaste kiss on your cheek.

“Where were you?” he asks, reaching over to tuck a hair strand behind your ear. When you flinch, he pulls away.

“I lost track of time,” you respond, quickly making your way over to your chair.

Clint fills your cup with water, turning to your husband when he’s finished. “Are you sure that Stark will appreciate your help, Steve?”

You look up. “Are we talking about Tony?”

“The situation back at the Stark kingdom is under control,” Wanda says, leaning towards you. “We just received that message. Steve still wants to send a part of the army over there.”

Steve brings his cup of wine to his lips. “Stark will just have to get over it. We’re allies and allies help each other.”

“I agree, but I don’t think we should send Rumlow and his squad over there,” Wanda says. “He’s a good fighter, but not good at working with other people.”

“He already volunteered, Wanda.”

“Others did too. I’m his general and he’ll listen to me,” she says. “And hopefully you will listen to me. I’m saying it’s a bad idea. I have other people that would work very well in the Stark kingdom.”

Steve sighs. “I’ll send another letter to Stark. Drop by tomorrow and we’ll discuss your people, all right?”

She nods, her mouth curling in an almost cat-like smile.

You try to eat a bit of the food on your plate, discovering it’s already cold. You just drink a bit, something that you need after almost crying your eyes out. Stubborn Tony, you think as you take another sip. That idiot. After you married Steve for protection, he’s not accepting said protection? Typical.

They talk about HYDRA some more and other proposals. The mood is different than other evenings, but maybe that’s just you. You’re different. Broken. Wrong.

When dessert is served and everybody’s distracted, Clint leans over to you.

“You all right, Y/N?”

You look at him, at those kind eyes. You can see he’s truly worried and you swallow, the lump threatening to appear again.

It takes you a lot of willpower to open your mouth and force yourself to say the words. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely comments, sorry for the wait!


	19. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: A lot of depression.  
> Take care, readers.

You’re tired.

Every cell in your body is crying out for sleep. Your eyes keep closing during the day and your yawning is starting to make your jaw ache. You find that you struggle to remember words, constantly stammering. Thinking has become significantly harder. You know all of it will go away if you just sleep, but you can’t. Every time you fall asleep, you’re awoken half an hour later because of your nightmares. You see your parents die or you get murdered or Steve hurts you or you are lost and can’t find home anymore. Every scenario is horrible and when you wake up, still as tired as before, you can’t help but cry out of frustration. You just want to sleep and dream of happy things.

You drink Clint’s tea every night, but it doesn’t help. You lie down as far away from Steve as possible, hoping you won’t wake him up, but he always does. He tries to help you, rubbing his hand over your back, whispering reassurances in your ear, getting you some water or pressing a damp cloth against your forehead, but his care doesn’t take the horror and the pain away.

The nightmares keep getting worse and there’s a new one, a dream where you have a baby. You’re standing in front of the window, looking outside, telling your beautiful baby child who has Steve’s eyes about the world out there and its father. The moment is ruined when the HYDRA woman appears out of nowhere, grabbing the baby and throwing it out of the window with a sickening laugh, listening attentively until she hears a splatter.

It’s a dream that makes you physically sick. You wake up in a pool of sweat and tears, pushing Steve away so you can run to the bathroom where you retch. Steve always follows, gently holding your hair back, promising you it’s going to be all right before he offers to make you some more tea. You try to take your mind of the horrible sound that you heard, but it never works. Whenever Steve comes back with a steaming cup, you’re curled up in a corner, bawling. He’s asked you over and over what you dream of, but you just can’t tell him, you can’t open your mouth, you just can’t get the words out.

You know you’re a disappointment to him. He wanted a nice, pretty wife. Someone to support him, who he can have sex with and who will carry his children. Someone to laugh with, someone to admire his sketches and dance with him. He never signed up for some broken princess who makes it impossible for him to sleep. You’ve noticed the circles under his eyes, and you’ve heard Phil Coulson telling him to take it easy. It’s your fault. When you wake up from another nightmare again where you were slowly suffocated in your parents’ blood, he’s there, but you can see he can barely keep his eyes open and when he gets up to get you some water, he yawns.

It’s the breaking point.

“Just go and sleep in Bucky’s room,” you tell him, wiping away the tears. “You’re walking around half asleep, Steve.”

“Sweetheart,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “I’m not leaving you.” He turns around, walking over to the bed where you’re sitting on, clutching the bedding. “It’s all right. I’ll hold you, baby, it’s fine.”

He tries to reach over to you, but you pull away immediately. You don’t want his hands on you, you don’t want to see the signs of exhaustion that are evident on him. He tries again and again and if you were feeling normal, you would laugh at how hilarious it is. It’s like you’re a shy kitten who he just wants to pet, it’s almost like a dance. But now, there’s nothing funny about it. Finally, you give up pulling away and shout:

“I don’t want you here. I don’t want you hanging over me! You’re always touching me and talking to me and I just can’t breathe! I want you to get out!”

You know you’ve hurt him. It’s the first time you’ve yelled at him.

He doesn’t leave with his tails between his legs like you expected him to, though.

“I thought you wanted me here. I offered to give you space… remember… but then you were asking why I didn’t stay with you! I’m really trying here, but you’re… Why can’t you just ever explain what you want… why do you have to be so _difficult_?”

You growl at him. “You’re the one being difficult! I didn’t know you would be all over me. Just leave me alone!”

He sighs, rubbing his eyes. “ _Fine_. If that’s what you want. You know where to find me.”

You don’t say anything as he gets his pillow, takes some stuff out of his closet and leaves. He carefully shuts the door behind him, always so careful to not make a lot of noise. You bury your face in your own pillow, trying to stifle the sound of your crying.

You feel hollow after sending Steve away. Sure, he was suffocating you a little and you just want him to get a good night’s rest, but a part of you misses him, his presence. The knowledge that you’re not alone in all of this, that there’ll be someone to carry you and wipe the tears away. Now you’ve really ruined it all. You’ve pushed your ever-faithful ally away. You’re alone, everybody has left.

When morning comes you don’t get out of bed to garden with him. A part of you is afraid he won’t be there and that you’ll look like a fool. And if he’s there, you’ll have to talk to him about last night. You can’t do that. You force yourself to drink something and pace the room, waiting until you can go get breakfast that you eat back in your room.

You get in bed again after the meal. There’s nothing that you can do. Everything feels pointless anyway. You lie down on your back, holding your hands up in the air to study your fingers, your knuckles, your nails, everything. They look like the hands of somebody else. They don’t look like your hands at all.

When Steve comes in to get some more stuff out of his closet, you don’t say anything. You pretend to be asleep, but you know it’s futile: he has noticed the plate with crumbs on the table. He sighs and walks over to the bed, stroking your hair and pressing a quick kiss on your temple.

“I have a lot of meetings today, but if you need me, I’ll come, all right?”

You don’t respond. He sighs again and then leaves, mumbling something under his breath. You keep your eyes closed. A voice inside of you tells you to get out of bed and get dressed. You should listen to it because it knows the danger. Before you know it, you’ll fall in a state of depression that’s impossible to get out of. You have to do something now, but you just can’t and then you fall in a state of not sleeping but also not being awake. It doesn’t help with your tiredness. Everything’s just dark but you are aware of the maid who comes in to hang the washed clothing in the closet. You hear her footsteps, her humming. She has definitely noticed you, but she just doesn’t care.

You’re all alone.

Tony’s not here. Pepper’s not here. Natasha’s not here. Your parents aren’t here. Maybe their spirits are watching you. If that’s the case, you’ve disappointed them. You’re supposed to be strong. “No daughter of mine shows weakness,” your father once told you. You’re a Stark and they’re strong and powerful and they don’t spend their days crying in bed. And hasn’t your mother told you to always keep your head held high and be a good girl? You’ve failed them, again and again. You should have fought harder at that ball, you should have been armed with your dagger, you should have tried to save them. Instead, you froze like some bloody coward and watched them die. 

HYDRA should have just killed you too.

* * *

It’s Jo who saves you from spending an entire day crying in bed.

A sharp knock snaps you out of your state of not sleeping but also not being awake. You hope it’s Clint or someone else who will get the hint when you don’t walk to the door to open it. But the door opens, creakingly, and a timid voice echoes through the room.

“Your Majesty?”

You don’t recognize the voice and a tiny part of you is curious who is bothering you. Maybe Steve sent her or she’s one of Darcy’s friends who has come looking for her. You force yourself to lift your head, not caring one bit about how much of a mess you must look with your tear stained face and uncombed hair.

The maid is visibly shocked when she sees you. “Oh god…” she mutters. “Your majesty, are you all right? Do I need to get someone for you?”

You shake your head. “Why are you here?”

“I’m bringing Jo. She said you promised to take her on a walk today. We can come back later, your majesty, I’m really sorry to bother…” the poor girl stutters. “Really…”

You’re no longer paying attention to her but to the child, tiny and rrose-cheeked hiding behind her skirt. The sight of Jo changes everything and you feel ashamed of the way you look. You’re pathetic. What must she think of you?

“It’s fine,” you tell the still stuttering maid. “I’ll need to get dressed and then we can go on a walk.”

You push the blankets away and climb out of the bed. When your feet hit the ground, your knees buckle, and you have to grab the bedpost to keep yourself upright. The maid is at your side, grabbing your arm to help you.

“Are you still unwell, your majesty?”

You don’t respond, leaning on her to get you to the bathroom where you lock the door with shaking hands. You take your time to wash your face, not once but twice, until your skin feels too sensitive to touch. You comb your hair, pulling it back before looking in the mirror and letting your hair fall down again so you can hide your puffy face. You open the door again and shuffle to the closet, watched by the maid and Jo, who still hasn’t said a word.

You change in the tiny closet that smells like Steve because of his clothes.

You fold up your nightgown and look down at your naked body. You’re thinner than normal, but that’s to be expected after eating so irregularly during your sickness. You press your fingers against your lower belly that’s a bit firmer than usual. You have your suspicions, but that’s all. You get your simplest dress and cram into that. You slip on some shoes, foregoing a coat. It’s too hot for that.

You turn around, accidentally brushing against one of Steve’s shirts. Something clenches in your belly, his scent so much stronger now and the fabric soft against your cheek. You purse your lips, taking a moment before you open the closet door and step out.

“Who’s ready to go on a walk?”

* * *

It’s a strange experience, being outside. You’re hypersensitive to the sounds and the smells and the light, but it’s good to be moving. Jo holds your hand, rambling about how she’s going to find more four-leaved-clovers in Steve’s garden so she can have more good luck.

“I can find one for you, so you have good luck!” she offers.

You chuckle. “I would love that, Jo.”

The maid follows you closely, her hands behind her back, her eyes on the ground. She’s obviously trying to disappear. Normally you would tell her to leave you alone with Jo, but something is keeping you from doing that. A part of you knows that she wouldn’t allow it. After seeing you in that state, she’s staying close.

Tomorrow, everybody will know. Their just crowned queen, lazing around in bed, looking like she spends her entire days crying her eyeballs out. You can imagine the laughter, the hushes, the looks. It’ll reach Steve too, you know that. Maybe some people will blame him, think that he’s been treating you badly when it’s been the exact opposite. But people don’t listen. People never listen. It’ll hurt him and it’ll all be your fault. You sometimes look over your shoulder at the girl, trying to study the face of the person who will sit in the kitchens tonight gossiping about you.

It’s hard to remember that you have to take the high road, that you can’t change anything about the fact that the servants will talk. It’s another sign that something in you has changed. This anger, this lack of decorum, it’s slowly overtaking you like a poison. It started as a little black ball in your stomache and now it’s seeping through your entire body, changing everything, making you look at the world through different eyes. You know that it’s happening, but you can’t help it. You’re powerless. Soon, you won’t be able to control yourself at all and everybody will see you for what you are: a stupid, dumb, horrible woman who can’t do anything right.

Jo looks over her shoulder. “Who’s that?”

You stop walking, turning around so you can see who she’s talking about. The maid looks to and you don’t miss the way she frowns and comes to stand a little bit closer to you. It’s a man. He’s just standing there, dressed a bit warm for the day in his black cape. He doesn’t look away or leaves when he realizes you’ve noticed him; he stays and stares you down. A feeling of nausea overtakes you when you realize you left your dagger in the castle. Sure, you’re close to the castle and if you scream people will hear, but you’re still defenseless. You’re not in the gardens yet, you’re in one of the spots where nobody in the palace can see you. There are no windows here, or witnesses. You’re alone with a maid who doesn’t know how to fight and a little traumatized girl. You’re vulnerable. You know it. He knows it.

“Your majesty?” the maid asks when he sets a step forward.

You don’t respond. You look at the man, trying to figure out where you’ve seen him before. You’re sure of it. Something about his face, his stubble and his dark thick hair… he looks familiar.

Jo squeezes your hand. “I want to go find the clovers.”

The man starts walking. As soon as he really starts moving you see the sword that is attached to his belt. Before it was hidden underneath his cape, but now you see the sharp metal that could easily be used to kill. You suddenly can’t breathe, your entire body tense while you scream in your head. Why aren’t you doing something? Why aren’t you shoving Jo and the maid behind you to shield them from harm, why aren’t you running, why aren’t you screaming, why are you just standing there, hyperventilating like you’re about to pass out? What is _wrong_ with you?

The man is in front of you now and something in you forces you to close your eyes, to purse your lips, to just wait for the moment he gets his sword and cuts of your head. The only sound you hear is the sound of your heartbeat, threatening to beat out of your chest. The last thing you think of is Steve, who’s now busy with work and is probably still hurt from what happened, before –

“Brock!”

You open your eyes with a gasp. The man is still standing there, his hands behind his back, an almost smirk on his face. You look over his shoulder, at Wanda who’s standing there, her hair tied back. You can breathe again. You know who this man is. You know where you’ve seen him before. When Wanda and Clint trained, he was there with a few guys. Brock… Rumlow, or something.

“Yes, General?” he asks, turning around.

“What are you doing? Go and order your men to start packing, soldier,” Wanda orders, a never before seen fire burning in her eyes. She moves closer, so tiny, but still demanding so much respect. “Move!”

“Off course, General. Just wanted to see if the Queen was alright. Your majesty,” Brock answers. He bows and then turns around, marching away like a true soldier. Wanda watches him with distaste, crossing her arms.

“Was he bothering you?” she asks, turning to you as soon as he’s out of sight.

“I… I thought he was going to… I thought he was the enemy,” you manage to whisper. Now that you know that he’s not dangerous, that he wasn’t a HYDRA soldier sent to kill you, you’re almost collapsing from relief.

“He’s ours. A pain in the ass, but our pain in the ass. Now he’s going to be your brother’s pain in the ass,” she says. “I tried to convince Steve to send anybody else, but he’s right. Rumlow is a good soldier and well… this is his chance to prove himself. And of course, Pierce was all for sending Rumlow over there. Men.”

You look at her, remembering how much she fought the possibility of Rumlow going to the Stark kingdom. “Who did you want to go over there?”

“Hope van Dyne. She’s a ruthless soldier but still a woman. Pierce showed his view on women in the army today. God. Your husband was ready to punch him.”

You smile at that. You don’t envy Wanda’s position at all. You know that Steve supports her, but it’s still hard for her. You’ve already had a hard-enough time with men underestimating and demeaning you, and you weren’t in the army. God only knows the hardships Wanda, Peggy Carter and that Hope van Dyne went through. You even think of Natasha. She never had a official rank, but her role in the Stark kingdom is a lot like it. She’ll fight alongside with the men and you know it hasn’t been easy for her either.

“Are you all right, Y/N?” Wanda asks, squinting her eyes at you. “I think you should rest a bit more. Steve mentioned you being unwell.”

“I’m fine,” you snap at her and it’s clear that she wasn’t expecting that. She quickly hides her surprise and straightens her back.

“Off course. I’ll be off then. Be careful.”

Wanda walks away and you watch her walk. It’s exactly the same as Rumlow’s, nothing like the walk of other ladies, who move their hips. She’s manly and it’s almost comforting. Natasha walked like that if there was no man in the vicinity that she had to trick.

You take a moment to recollect yourself, to swallow to get your dry mouth under control and breathe again. Jo is still holding your hand, looking up at you. You look at her little face. She’s so innocent, so oblivious. She has no idea of the fear that almost overtake you just a few minutes ago.

The maid however, does. When you start walking again, you catch a glimpse of her face. The pity on her it makes the anger inside you burn even stronger. Jo almost squeals when you pull her along in a manner that you know is too rough.

* * *

Darcy drops in when you eat your dinner alone. You’re seated next to the window with your place, taking a few sips of the wine that Steve would scold you for. From the way she looks at you, you know she’s in the mood for some kind of roast. You don’t. All you want to do is get drunk and then go to bed and sleep for a change. You don’t even care if you have nightmares. You just need to sleep. You can barely keep your eyes open and the circles underneath your eyes broadcast to the world that you’re a failure. You can’t even manage a decent night rest.

“Not eating with your sweetheart?” Darcy asks, putting her hands on her hips. “Still mad about that letter from Natasha?”

“Leave me alone.”

“Steve told me about what happened.”

“Darcy, I told you to leave.”

“Something is wrong with you and it’s really weird because I thought you were finally getting settled. I understand it’s a bit difficult, but really? Steve loves you so much; you know that right, Y/N? That man would jump off a cliff for you.”

You roll your eyes, bringing the wine glass to your mouth. You get the message. You should be grateful. You should be on your knees, thanking Steve. If only he wasn’t so perfect. If only he was rough with you or if he was an alcoholic or if he liked to spend his evenings with prostitutes. If only… then you wouldn’t feel so grateful. But he has to be so frigging amazing, so faithful, so loving, so patient, so understanding… so everything. And you’re not. You’re bad at everything he does. You’re the broken girl he married. The girl who wants to go home, the girl who’s pushing everyone away. The girl who is slowly overtaken by the darkness.

“He’s heartbroken. He doesn’t know what to do.”

“How about ‘leave me alone’?” you yell out, slamming your now empty glass down on the table so hard that Darcy jumps. “I don’t love him. I married him to fulfill my duty! I’m one big gigantic failure and I’m sorry that it’s taken him so long to realize that he shouldn’t have married me! Let him just leave me alone. I don’t want him here. I don’t want him around me. I don’t want to see him, and I want you to leave because you’re only here to convince me to act normal! You’re not my friend, you’re his!”

Darcy’s just staring at her. For once, she’s silent. But it’s not enough. You don’t want her here, staring at you. You just know what she’s thinking right now. She thinks you’re crazy, that you’re a unhinged bitch. She despises you. You want her gone.

“Get out, get out, get out!” you scream, standing up.

“Okay, lunatic,” Darcy mutters. “God…”

And with that, she turns around and leaves.

You sit down again, your skirts in the way. You fill your wine glass, staring at the red liquid that resembles blood in a way that it’s almost uncanny. You take a big gulp and close your eyes, forcing away the tears. It’s fine. It’s fine. You don’t need her. You don’t need anybody.

When night comes, you change in your nightgown. You close the curtains and climb in bed, staring at the flicker of the candle on your nightstand. You try to revel in the warmth and feeling of security that comes from being buried under so many blankets, but the horrible feeling is still there. You can only think of the people you’ve hurt and telling yourself that it doesn’t matter because they don’t matter doesn’t help at all. You toss and turn, not able to sleep. It’s a slap to the face when you realize that you can’t sleep because Steve isn’t there.

You miss him.

You’re not allowed to miss him. That doesn’t change the fact that you do. You miss his warmth, his kisses, being curled up against him. You miss how he would tell you that he loves you, that you are so amazing. You miss the feeling of being cared for. And the closeness. His smell. The feel of his abs underneath his sleeping shirt and his soft hair.

You wait until the candle isn’t burning anymore. He’s not here. You assume Darcy went to him and relayed your unhinged message. He’s no fool, he knows his worth and he’s not going to spend another night battling with his crazy wife. Right now, he’s probably sleeping on Bucky’s floor, happy to finally catch a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. He doesn’t care about you and it’s all your fault.

When the tears come, there’s nothing that you can do. You just let them stream down your cheeks. You try to muffle the sounds you’re making by covering your mouth. You don’t want Clint coming in to ask if you’re all right. You wouldn’t be able to bear it, all that concern when you know you don’t deserve it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I got a bit sick and I had this performance that I had to focus on.  
> You know what? Scratch that.  
> Honestly, what's really kept me from writing and publishing this chapter was anxiety. Every time you guys blow me away with your wonderful comments. I really was not expecting so much response to this story. I really don't want to let you down or publish a chapter that to me is just the reader endlessly battling depression. Sure, it's realistic, but I keep worrying it's boring or triggering to people or that the reader's thoughts are just plain confusing and not making any sense. I'm also struggling because I know that I'll have to make sure the reader deals with all this depression and works towards better mental health and I want that to be realistic too. I hope you guys understand what I'm talking about.  
> I promise that in the next chapter things will get better. This story will have a happy ending after all. Right now the reader is just going through some really deep shit and I'm struggling a bit with this story. Sorry.


	20. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely comments! <3 I can get a bit insecure about my writing when it's about a topic like mental illness, a topic that is very personal for me because of my own struggles.
> 
> Anyway, after the sadness in the last chapter, a more uplifting chapter for y'all. The reader's getting there, guys.

You really should have known better than to drink so much wine before going to bed, but lately, you haven’t really been thinking. The last time you drank so much before sleeping was during your first dinner with Steve and his friends and you still remember how much the wine worsened the nightmares. This time, it doesn’t have that effect.

Something else happens.

Your dream is the weirdest dream you’ve ever had and that’s saying something. In it, you’re sitting in one of the parlors back home. Your mother is there, drinking tea with her ladies in waiting. You’re not sitting next to her, which is unusual, but you’re sitting at a table on the other side of the room. You’re all alone, clearly excluded from the laughing and talking group. The door opens and a woman enters. It takes a moment for you to recognize yourself. It’s definitely you, but there’s no wedding band on your finger and your face is much fuller. It’s you, before you became Mrs. Rogers, before you saw your parents die. It’s you, happy and carefree.

The happy you sits down next to your mother. It’s hard to see your interaction with your mother. The careful touches, the clear affection between the two of you. Sure, you weren’t best friends, but you loved her, and she loved you. There was no doubt there. The happy you pours her a cup of tea. You stand up, walking over to the table. You want to observe everything from a closer proximity, you want to figure out what’s going on.

The happy you puts her teacup down and looks you straight in the eye.

It’s horrifying, you can’t shake the feeling that she’s looking right into your soul. You’re vulnerable, only now do you notice you’re wearing your nightgown. She knows everything, every tear, every insecurity. She’s inside your soul now, she sees everything, she _is_ you.

She raises one eyebrow and then opens her mouth. “Really?”

Next, you’re with Natasha in her bedroom.

You know something’s wrong because it’s not a mess and she’s wearing a feminine gown to accentuate her curves. Her hair is curled and half up and down. She sits down next to you on the bed, softly putting her palm underneath your collarbone. She’s not fondling you, but she’s getting close. She opens her mouth and says something, but you can’t hear what. It’s like there’s no sound coming out of her mouth. When she notices that you’re staring at her pink lips, she smiles and leans forward, pressing them against you. It’s a messy kiss and you don’t know what to do. Something about this is all wrong and there’s no real flutter in your belly, no tightening inside of you. It’s nice, but nothing more.

But then you feel someone else’s lips against your skin, close to your mouth. From the way his beard scratches your skin you know it’s Steve and you gasp. He takes the opportunity to kiss you too, together with Natasha. You put your hand on his arm to ask him what he’s doing here, because this is back home, and you want to tell him that you miss him, but he doesn’t give you the chance to do that. He’s kissing you, just as messy and wet as Natasha is doing. There’s nothing you can do but slowly lie down and close your eyes while the two people above you moan and groan.

Everything changes when Steve tangles his hand in your hair in a very not gentle manner. You try to pull away but that only worsens it. You want Natasha to stop thrusting her tongue inside your mouth so you can tell Steve to stop it, but she’s relentless. Steve only pulls harder and you open your eyes in a panic.

“Isn’t this what you wanted, _sweetheart_? You want Natasha here, right?”

You look at Natasha, who finally pulls away, all flustered.

“Don’t you want her to kiss you?” Steve asks you, his tone malicious now. “Don’t you want her to _fuck_ you?”

Natasha leans down again and only then does the startling realization come that you don’t want it. You don’t want her touching you like that. You don’t want sex with her or open-mouthed kisses.

You want to hug her, and you want to listen to her talk about her day, but you don’t want anything more than that. It’s a strange realization, it’s more like a remembrance, because you knew this. You knew this in the beginning, right? You knew that you weren’t in love with her, but that you loved her and there’s a big difference between those two.

You reach over to Steve to tell him that you’re sorry, that you don’t want Natasha, that you don’t want her like that, but he’s now fully on top of you. His free hand is around your throat.

“Don’t you want to go, honey? Don’t you want to go back?” he growls at you. “Let’s go then, right?”

His hand around your throat tightens and it’s hard to breathe. You start seeing black spots and then you notice a person standing next to the bed, staring at you.

It’s you.

You in a nightgown, with messy hair and a shocked look on your face. It’s the broken, depressed you, the you who’s convinced that she needs Natasha to be happy, to be normal.

She watches as Steve slowly chokes the life out of you. You feel Natasha’s soft hands stroke your arms, telling you to lay still. You sputter a bit. You want to wake up, you want to go back to the room you share with Steve and you want his loving hands on you, you want to be better, you want to leave, but you can’t. Eventually, it gets too much, your lungs can no longer go on and the grip on your throat is so painful. You close your eyes and you feel your body go limp. Steve climbs off of you and Natasha leaves too. You know you’re dead. You just know it.

When you wake up, you promise yourself that you’re never drinking again and this time, you’ll keep your promise. Even though the dream keeps lingering inside your mind while you shuffle to the bathroom, you can’t deny that you finally slept for a long time. Sure, your dream wasn’t amazing, but you didn’t wake up screaming or crying. You woke up, relatively calm. The effect of some hours of sleep is immediately felt. Your head feels clearer and the aching of your body is gone.

You pee, looking down at your underwear. Still no blood. Your monthly cycle sure is taking its time. When you go back to the bed, you notice the note on your bed stand.

_Good morning, sweetheart. Talked to Darcy and she thinks it’s best if I give you some space. I won’t bother you, so don’t worry about me. Worry about getting better. Make sure you eat enough. If there’s anything, you can just ask somebody to come and get me._

_Love, your Steve._

You slowly fold up the note, pressing it against your chest. That’s so like Steve. A giggle that you can’t quite explain escapes you. For now, you try not to think about your dream or the way you shouted at Steve or how you snapped at Wanda or yelled at Darcy… for now you just focus on the ‘Love, your Steve’.

He’s still there.

He still loves you. He’s still yours. He’s not giving up on you yet.

He’s your Steve.

You go to the closet and bury your nose in his clothing, breathing in his scent. The idea that it’s going to be all right, that all is not ruined, paired with an almost good night’s rest… you feel a bit energetic again. Still not good enough to see Steve, you have no idea what to say, but good enough to go outside.

After all, there’s nothing better than some fresh air, right?

* * *

Wanda ties back her hair while baring her teeth as an animal would. You admire the way she stands, so powerful and confident. Clint just leans against the tree that you’re sitting underneath, juggling a few knives.

“Either of you ladies want to bet?”

You look up at him, your hands folded on your lap. “Bet about what?”

“How long it will take for Stark to send a letter to Steve complaining about Rumlow and his band of walking warning signs,” Clint says, throwing up one knife. “Bucky wanted to bet with me, but he lost his money to Lang during some other bet, so now I have no one.”

“I know better than to use my money in games like that,” Wanda says. “Y/N does too.”

You nod. “I don’t even have any money, not really, like money that I could give you.”

Clint chuckles. “It’s fine, kiddo. Anyway, I think it’s going to be a week.”

Wanda huffs and that only makes Clint laugh more. While the two of them move away from the tree and you and get into their positions, you take Steve’s note out of your dress pocket. You unfold it, your gloves an annoyance, but no more than usual. You study the ink, the way he wrote the ‘h’ in sweetheart. The darkness is still there, but for now, it has blissfully left you alone. Just for a moment and you’re incredibly grateful. The guilt is very much there, the realization that you don’t deserve his love and kindness. He should be acting the way he did in your dream, angry for betraying him by your fantasy about Natasha. But he’s not. Because he’s Steve. Always forgiving, always seeing the good in people. If only you could be just as good as him. If only you could be worthy. But the realization that that doesn’t matter to him, is freeing.

It’s the light at the end of the tunnel.

Clint overpowers Wanda and then she overpowers him. They tease each other, talking about that Rumlow guy. Whenever you hear his name all you can think of is the way you froze. So incredibly stupid. He didn’t mean you any harm, but what if he had? You wouldn’t have been able to defend yourself.

The memory of that motivates you to finally ask the question.

“Can I fight?”

Wanda and Clint look at you, both faces showing a different kind of shock.

“Please? It’s been such a long time since I’ve trained,” you say, standing up and taking off your sunhat. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten… well, how to defend myself.”

“You haven’t. Fighting is something you really can’t forget. Sure, you can get out of shape, but it’s still in there,” Clint says. He wipes away some beads of sweat from his forehead before turning back to Wanda to continue their training.

Wanda, however, is still staring at you, her hands on her hips and a frown on her face. “You want to do this in your dress?”

You look down at your full skirt. Back home when you fought with Natasha, you wore one of your dresses that had no underskirts. Mother never allowed you to wear pants, like the ones Wanda’s wearing. Fighting in a dress like this would be unpractical but could be useful. What if someone attacks the palace? You won’t be wearing practical clothes, no, it’s very likely that if that happened you would be wearing one of your big dresses. You need to be able to fight in your dresses too.

“Yes,” you answer her.

Clint sits down on the grass. “Fine, I wanted a break anyway. Wanda, make sure you don’t break her. Steve would kill you.”

“Take off your gloves,” Wanda orders and you take them off, handing them over to Clint who is now looking very amused. He sits back, obviously waiting for the show to start.

“Now, I’m going to come at you and you’re going to fight back with all you have. There are no rules, you just have to win. I’m using my bare hands. You do whatever you need to do to make sure you come up on top, all right? Tell me to stop if you need to… well, stop.”

You nod before putting your feet in the position Natasha taught you when you were younger. You take a few moments to control your breathing and just get in touch with your body, readying yourself for what’s going to happen.

You nod again at Wanda, who charges at you while screaming a scream that you can only describe as blood curling. It unsettles you and before you know it, she has tackled you. You slam against the grass, incredibly aware of her weight on you. She’s a lot heavier than she looks. It takes a few seconds for you to remember that you need to fight… but then, you fight. She tries to get her hands around your throat but you’re faster, throwing a punch against her jaw that makes her lose her balance. Using that you throw her off, jumping on top of her, using your skirts as an advantage to keep her from kicking you. You defend yourself from her punches and slaps, but she’s strong and then she’s on top of you again. Wanda was right, it’s not a fair fight. She bites you and you scratch her. You scream when she puts her hand on your updo and pulls. You try to get up but she’s not letting you go without a fight. You kick her in the stomach, and she coughs before she grabs your ankle and pulls you down on the ground again.

Now you’re angry. You growl, scratching her again and then falling on top of her. You accidentally knock your forehead against hers and she yelps. You pin her right arm down by holding her by the wrist and then the other. You sit down on her stomach, using all your strength to keep her to the ground until she gives up.

Clint makes an approving sound. “Told you that you wouldn’t have forgotten.”

When Wanda tells you it’s over, you get off of her. You help her up and thank her before putting on your gloves and sunhat again. You go back to your spot underneath the tree, curling up against it. You’re tired, still shaking a bit from the adrenaline surging through your body.

You won. You beat Wanda. You survived. You’re still strong. The knowledge that you can still defend yourself if necessary is comforting. While Wanda and Clint start fighting again you close your eyes. Just for a moment, you tell yourself. A moment turns into a few minutes and then you’re asleep.

* * *

It’s Clint who wakes you up by gently shaking you. You wake up with a gasp, blinking against the sharp daylight.

“Come on,” he simply says, taking your hand to pull you up. You take a moment to stretch, groaning. Your back is sore, which proves that sleeping against a tree isn’t the best idea. Clint has already gathered his stuff and you look around, wondering where Wanda is.

Clint notices. “She went home already.”

“Already?”

“You looked like you could use some sleep, kid. I stayed,” Clint says. “I’m your bodyguard, after all.”

“You really didn’t have to do that,” you croak out, imagining Clint just sitting here, waiting for you to wake up. The sun is already on its way down, it must be late in the afternoon, so Clint must have been here a long time. All for you. The incredibly kind gesture makes your throat tighten a bit.

“It’s fine. I liked listening to you snore,” Clint teases.

“I don’t snore!”

“Oh, yes, you do. Steve’s just too polite to say it.”

You roll your eyes at him and he laughs, putting his hand on your shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go home. It’s probably almost dinnertime.”

The two of you start walking at an relatively normal pace. You notice that Clint slows down a bit for you to keep up and you’re grateful. You’re still not as steady on your feet as you used to be. His hand lingers on your shoulder, but you’re not bothered by it. He does it in a fatherly way, or maybe a brotherly way, like Tony used to sling his arm around you whenever he walked with you. The memory of Tony makes you falter, wondering what he’s doing now. If he’s thinking of you. Maybe he’s eating dinner with Pepper, talking about possible names for your unborn niece or nephew.

“You’re a good fighter,” he says. “Not very graceful, but that isn’t the point. When you’ve got to fight to survive, you shouldn’t worry about your dress. I know enough ladies who would.”

You chuckle at that.

“You worry a lot about having to defend yourself?” Clint asks, his voice a lot more serious now. You know what he’s getting at.

“Clint, I’m all right,” you tell him.

He looks at you, an almost sad look in his blue eyes. “No. No, you’re not.”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what you can say to convince him that you’re fine. You don’t even know if you want to do that. Maybe it would be nice to talk to someone, confide into someone about what you’ve been going through. Maybe allowing yourself to be vulnerable wouldn’t be the end of the world.

You won’t know until you’ve tried it, right?

“What’s going on, Y/N?” Clint asks.

“I don’t know. I don’t really know. I don’t understand it myself,” you say, flinching at the way your voice breaks. You stumble a bit, your hand going inside your pocket to touch Steve’s note. Slowly you feel the darkness coming back, looming over you. You’re determined to win, to fight, to get out on top. You’re not losing again. You’re going to talk about it.

And that’s exactly what happens. You talk about Natasha’s letter and the nightmares. You describe the horrors you see and how you just wanted Steve to have a good night’s rest. You tell him about the portal you wanted to step through and the guilt that threatened and is still threatening to crush you. The words pour out of your mouth like a waterfall, now you’ve started you just can’t stop. You wipe away a few tears when you tell Clint about how you pushed Steve away and how you snapped at so many people and how you yelled at Darcy until she left.

And then you talk about the dream you had last night. About how you realized that you aren’t in love with Natasha anymore. You show Clint the note, who chuckles at the content.

“But I still feel guilty. For wanting to go home. It’s better now, because I know that I’m not still in love with Natasha, but still, I can’t be the wife that Steve deserves,” you say, folding the note again and putting it in your pocket.

“Why do you want to go home?”

You frown at Clint. “Because… because that was my home for so long.”

“It’s not about the building, right? And I’m sure that it also isn’t about your brother.”

You ponder that thought for a moment. Clint’s right. It isn’t really about the building and your brother. Just like Jo doesn’t really miss her house. She misses the feeling of safety and love that she associated with that house.

“That portal you were talking about… that’s what you really want. To go back in time,” Clint says, putting his hands in his pockets. “You don’t want to get in a carriage and go back to the Stark kingdom. You want to go back to before your parents died. You want to go back and find yourself. Am I right?”

You don’t answer him. Instead, you opt to bite your lip until you can taste salt on your tongue. You fight the tears that fill your eyes, not wanting to cry in front of Clint. He’s absolutely right, that man. You glance at him. He’s still walking in a steady pace, looking towards the castle that’s now a lot closer. He takes his hand out of his pocket, handing you a handkerchief without looking at you. It’s a kind gesture, that way you can pretend he hasn’t seen just how destroyed you are. You take the handkerchief and press it against your eyes, taking a shaky breath.

“You’re damaged. All of us are, kid. It’s understandable, after what happened to you.” Clint says, shaking his head when you try to give him back the handkerchief. “Listen, all of us want to go back to a moment in time when it was better. You’re not bad because of what you’re feeling. You’ve been through a lot, got married, was almost assassinated… Add a few nights of not sleeping and being under the weather already and you get… well, you know what you get. All you need to know is that you can’t go back and that you shouldn’t beat yourself up for that desire. You haven’t cheated on Steve or anything. You’re just struggling and that’s not at all bad. Everybody struggles.”

“What do I do now?” you ask, looking up to him.

“Apologize to everybody you snapped at, try to get some more sleep and leave it all behind you. You can start over; you can start afresh. You don’t need to be there yet; all you need to do is work on getting there. Stop leaning on your old life. It’s gone. Try working on this one and work with Steve as a team. It’s as simple as that.”

And it is. It really is. You know that in reality, it won’t be that easy. You know it’s going to be so hard and that it’s going to hurt and that there will be more nightmares and arguments but the knowledge that you can really start over is so wonderful that you stop walking and throw your arms around Clint, burying your face in his chest.

It startles him, you can hear him gasp and then you feel his hands on your back, rubbing circles. “It’s all right, kiddo,” he tells you. “It’s fine. You’re safe. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

That’s when the tears really come, and you have to pull away to press the handkerchief against your cheeks to wipe them away.

* * *

Back at the palace, you find Steve in the gardens, digging. He’s gotten rid of his shirt, only wearing his undershirt. He’s all sweaty and his hands are covered in earth, but the sight of him doesn’t repulse you like it should. If Darcy were here, she would definitely tell you off for ogling him or something, but she’s not here and you’re glad she isn’t.

It takes some time for Steve to notice you, standing there, your hair still messed up from fighting with Wanda. When he does, the surprise on his face is evident.

“I thought you were in your room,” he says, putting the shovel away.

“I just came back from watching Wanda and Clint spar,” you answer. “I wanted to get out and get some fresh air. It was nice.”

He nods, looking at his shoes that are also covered in earth. You swallow thickly, walking over to him.

“I got your note,” you say softly. “Thank you.”

“Don’t… don’t mention it,” Steve says, scratching the back of his neck. “Listen, I’m planting some new plants and I’ve got the rosebushes… you wanted to plant some for your mother. You want to help? I didn’t get a chance to garden this morning so I’m doing it now.”

You nod. “I would love to.”

You don’t say anything else to Steve. The two of you work in silence. You help him dig, taking off your hat. Together you carry the rosebushes to where they need to be and then you get down on your knees to pull some weeds. You catch Steve looking at you a few times. When he realizes you’ve noticed, he looks away immediately, almost embarrassed at getting caught looking at his wife.

Because that’s who you are. His wife. You wear the wedding band on your finger. He’s your husband. He wears the wedding band on his finger. You’re tied to him; you will be for your entire life. You’ve made a vow and he became your husband. He’ll be your husband, even if you don’t feel worthy enough. All you can do now is try to be a better wife. Like Clint said, work on getting there. That’s all you can do.

You’ll apologize to Darcy later. You try to think of what you should say to Steve, but then he sits down next to you, helping you with the stubborn weed you’re working on.

His hands brush against yours and you look at him. It’s like looking at him for the first time. You notice his eyelashes; how thick they are. His brows, the specks in his eyes, the little lines on his forehead, the softness of his beard. It’s Steve, your Steve, your husband, your friend, your confidante. The one who never makes fun of you, who’s always there to hold you, who has your back no matter what. You know you’re not exactly what he needs you to be, but that doesn’t matter. You know he loves you just the way you are. The knowledge of that is enough to take your breath away.

You smile at him, a bit shy, and then lean your head against his shoulder, comforted by his body heat.

He presses a soft kiss against your hairline and murmurs something unintelligible.

It’s all right. At least, it’s going to be all right.

You stay in that position with Steve a long time, until your legs are almost asleep, and your back is hurting from the leaning down on his shoulder. He helps you up when it’s getting too uncomfortable to stay on the ground, his arm around your waist.

“Let’s get you something to eat, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3  
> Btw, I saw Spiderman: Far From Home yesterday. Finally! I wasn't able to see the movie earlier and I was spoiled a little bit about some of the contents of the movie, but it was still a really great watch. It was just what I needed (although that credit scene wasn't what I needed...).
> 
> Thank you all for your support and love, I don't know what I did to deserve such awesome readers!


	21. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! 
> 
> Two mentions of suicide in this chapter. The first one is when a character talks about her mother who killed herself, the second one is when the reader is told about a very minor character having killed themselves. Take care, lovelies!

“Tell me what you need, Y/N.”

It seems like that’s the only thing Steve is saying nowadays. He’s even more gentle with you than before, constantly checking in on you, rushing back towards the room you share to make sure you’re all right. You know that the maids who keep stumbling into the room when he’s not able to make it are sent by him and weren’t just lost. He’s given instructions to the cook to make sure you eat enough and encourages you to take long walks. You try to let it slide, because it’s sweet and you know he does it because he loves you, but when he becomes too overbearing you tell him just that and he backs off.

“You’ll be a great father someday,” you whisper to him in the middle of the night, after he’s brought you another cup of tea. He reaches over to you, grasping your hand and squeezing it. He doesn’t respond, but you know he’s thinking about it. Children. You use your free hand to move underneath your nightgown, cupping your lower belly.

Steve doesn’t mention the fight in any way. Your silent apology was all he needed to settle back into a semi-normal rhythm. He pulls you along to the gardens every morning and started something new: dinner with just the two of you. When you asked him if the others aren’t annoyed, he answered that they’re probably thrilled that they don’t have to listen to his boring stories. You chuckled at that. It’s not true, Steve’s always silent at the dinner table, but you know that the rest of the ‘group’ gets together in the kitchens and eat their dinner there. There are no hard feelings, they know that the two of you need the time together.

You take it one step at a time. You make sure you go out every day, spending some hours getting some fresh air, with and without Steve. You try to eat all the food Steve tries to stuff you with and you try to get your sleep. It’s hard because the nightmares are still there, but it’s getting better. And whenever you wake up in tears, Steve’s there with his question. “Tell me what you need, honey.”

Sometimes you need him. Sometimes you just need space.

It’s still a bit strange, telling Steve what you want and what you don’t want. It’s communicating, but it’s a foreign thing to you. You try to remember what Pepper told you, that your marriage with Steve will work out fine if you just talk to him. You don’t want to fight with Steve anymore, you don’t want to hurt him, so you do your best. You’ll do anything to make it right.

* * *

Darcy is sitting in the kitchen, her hair hanging in front of her face which makes it impossible for you to tell what mood she’s in. She’s sitting next to the cook you’ve talked to before; they’re peeling potatoes. You linger in the doorway, listening to their conversation. At times Darcy’s voice reaches a higher pitch, that’s when you know she’s saying something she finds funny. The cook laughs, taking another potato out of the bowl in front of her.

“Can I help you?” Darcy’s voice rings through the kitchen. You know she’s talking to you, something that’s confirmed by the way she turns her head towards you. She must have known that you were standing there the whole time. You’re not surprised. Darcy is a perceptive woman.

“I… I wanted to talk to you,” you say, walking over to the table. The cook continues on with her work, focusing wholly on the potato. She’s clearly trying to disappear.

“If it’s about the laundry, I’ll do it tomorrow,” Darcy says, crossing her arms.

“You know it’s not about the laundry. Darcy, can we go on a walk?”

“No. I don’t feel like going outside. It’s really gloomy weather,” Darcy says.

The cook stands up. “I… I’ll leave you alone. Your Majesty.” She moves to curtsy, but Darcy grabs her arm.

“It’s fine, Anne. Stay.”

The cook – Anne – looks at you, helplessly. She’s obviously torn, she was definitely not expecting Darcy to ask her to stay. From the way she looks at you, it’s clear that she’s afraid that she’ll annoy you. She’s nothing more than a cook, a simple servant, and you’re the Queen, Steve’s wife. You could have her fired; her entire life ruined. The servants of the palace don’t hate you, but they know of the power you hold and it’s enough to make sure they stay away. Unlike Darcy, who overstepped every boundary from the moment you met her, who ignored every etiquette. It doesn’t bother you and you wouldn’t be bothered if Anne spoke to you in a more informal way. But she doesn’t know that. All she knows is that you clearly want her gone, but her friend is asking her to stay.

“Darcy…” you say.

Darcy sighs. “All right. I’ll see you later, Anne. We’ll just go and take a walk inside the castle. I meant what I said. It’s too gloomy.”

Anne sits down, clearly relieved. You smile at her softly before following Darcy outside of the kitchen.

Darcy still has her arms crossed over each other. She leans against the wall, arching an eyebrow. “You look better.”

“I _am_ better,” you say. “Darcy… I’m so sorry.”

She purses her lips, not saying anything. The look in her eyes is unreadable and you don’t know what to expect. You hate that, not knowing what’s going to happen.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you. That was wrong. I’m really sorry. I was just so…”

“Sick?”

You look up at Darcy. Her jaw is no longer as strained and she looks so much softer, her tone surprisingly gentle.

“It’s okay. I know what you’re going through. My mother was just like you. She had these… kind of episodes of extreme sadness. At least, that’s how she described them to me,” she says, swallowing thickly. “I saw how it slowly killed her from the inside, like a disease. My father… he cared so much about my mother, but he didn’t know what to say to make her better. She felt so alone, and he did too. I tried to take care of her. I coerced her to get out of her bed, to take a bath. I combed her hair every night and I told her how much I loved her. I wanted her to know that we all did, that we all would die for her, that she was not as alone as she thought. I don’t know what troubled her. I don’t know if it was something from her childhood because I never dared to ask. We didn’t talk about that sort of things. There was no medicine to heal her. We went to so many healers and I asked everybody who came from afar if there was anything they knew to help. Nothing. When I met Jane, I asked her, but Jane didn’t know. She was lost. It’s not a real disease, really, she told me, and I was furious at her. I had to watch my mother slowly die from the time I was a little girl and it was not a disease? She suffered so much. Yes, it was in her head, but does that matter? It was a sickness inside of her and that sickness killed her. I left to come here, and I received a letter a week from one of my siblings, saying that she had filled her pockets with stones and that she had gone out to the river and that she had drowned herself.”

You look at her dark eyes that are now filled with tears. You want to reach over to her, to comfort her. To tell her that you’re sorry. But you can’t do or say anything. You just stand there, feeling so incredibly small.

“I’ve seen my mother’s sickness since then. We get enough visitors and I’ve seen the ones who stay in bed, who only rarely smile, who always seem so lonely even though they’re surrounded by friends. I saw it in you that night,” Darcy says.

“I’m trying to get better. I really am. I’m feeling okay again. I’m just taking it slowly,” you begin.

“I know… I know. Sorry for how I acted in there. I guess I was just acting defensively. It’s in my nature. I appreciate you apologizing, it’s all right. It wasn’t fun being yelled at, but I… get it. I’ve never experienced it myself, gladly, but yeah.”

You wipe a stray tear away. “Thank you. And Darcy? You _are_ my friend. Really. You’re you in your own weird way and I’m really grateful that you’ve been at my side.”

She laughs, tears still shining in her eyes. “Well, being your friend certainly isn’t a chore, Sleeping Beauty. You’re a bit of a prude sometimes, incredibly oblivious and definitely crazy, but you’re a good woman. So…we’re good.”

You can’t help but throw your arms around her, hugging her tightly. She wraps her arms around you too, burying her face in your hair. You can hear her take a breath, a bit shakily, and you think of her mother and the stones in that poor woman’s pockets. You think of the woman in your arms, who wanted so much more, who wanted to make sure other girls would be able to have so much more.

It’s not fair, you think. It’s really not fair. But when is life ever fair?

* * *

When Steve helps you out of the carriage a few days later, you remember that Tony always used to fear places like these.

Cemeteries.

Whenever there was a funeral, he would dread the moment everybody had to go to the cemetery to lower down the casket.

“I just don’t like the idea,” he once explained to you. “All those dead people, together in one place. And it’s so silent.”

He’s right. It is silent. There’s nobody else at the cemetery right now. You hold onto Steve’s hand, squeezing it softly. You know this is hard for him. Bucky warned you about today. How just the date changes his mood, how he closes off from everybody. He hasn’t snapped at you or pushed you away, but you’ve noticed the change. He’s not really here, his mind is somewhere else.

You follow Steve. He knows the way. You stumble a bit; you’re wearing a very uncomfortable dress. The corset is way too tight; you’ve gained some weight. The dress you’re wearing is your grieving dress, the one you wore after your parents died. Today you haven’t donned the dark veil, it’s not a funeral after all and there’s no official mourning going on. You don’t want to attract any attention, you’re just here to support Steve.

You look over your shoulder. Bucky and Clint follow. There’s nobody else. Clint is here for your safety, Bucky here for Steve’s, but you know he’s also here for the support. You turn back to Steve, who tugs you along, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. You want to bring his hand to your lips, press a kiss against his warm skin. Tell him that you understand. You truly do.

When he stops, you look at the two gravestones. They’re gray and the names on them are a harsh reminder that life is fleeting. That nobody’s here forever.

HERE LIES OUR KING,

BELOVED FATHER AND HUSBAND

_JOSEPH ROGERS_

 

WITH LOVE WE REMEMBER,

OUR FORMER QUEEN

AND MOTHER

_SARAH ROGERS_

Steve kneels down on the ground, obviously not caring about the grass stains. You don’t know what to do: if you should sit down next to him or let him have a moment. You turn to Bucky and Clint, a bit helplessly. Bucky immediately understands and takes your hand, pulling you back to stand between the two men.

You wait.

You don’t know what you’re waiting for. Steve just sits there, his back to you. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything. He’s just staring at his parents’ gravestones. You look around, at the cemetery. It’s a beautiful day. There’s still some dew on the grass and the fruit in the trees surrounding the cemetery are almost ripe. It’s beautiful here.

Back home, there was a special cemetery for the royals. You asked Steve how that worked here. He explained that a special cemetery had been a normal occurrence until his mother became queen. When her husband died, Sarah chose to bury him in the same cemetery as his subjects. It had been her attempt at removing the distance between the royals and commoners. When she died, she had made it clear that she wanted to be buried next to her husband.

Today is the day that Joseph Rogers died, five years ago. Sarah Roger’s death day will be there in a few months. She died two years after her husband. Two years of watching her son turn into a king. It’s been three years, you realize. Three years for Steve that he spent without his parents.

Your husband looks over his shoulder and you smile at him, gently. He doesn’t smile back, but something changes in his eyes. It’s relief. You don’t know why. Did he think you would run away the moment you saw him vulnerable? You let go of Bucky’s hand, knowing exactly what you need to do.

You kneel down next to him. You’ll throw this dress away when you get back anyway. It is really tight. You put one arm around him, pulling him close, letting him rest his head on your shoulder. You run your free hand through his hair, enjoying the feel of the coarse strands.

“Tell me what you need, Steve,” you whisper. You can hear him sigh. He’s not himself, otherwise, he would have definitely laughed at the way you turned it around.

“I wish they were here,” Steve says softly. “I wish they could see how everything’s now. I already told you, my mother would have loved you. And my father, well, it was always a bit hard to get him to express his emotions, but he would have respected you. Liked you, after spending some time with you. He always wanted a daughter.”

You nod. “I understand, love.”

“I hope they’re proud of me.”

“Of course they are.”

He doesn’t respond. You pet his hair a little bit more, still holding him close. After some time, you feel him relax. He takes another shaky breath and you press a kiss against his temple.

“Tell me about them,” you say.

“My parents had an arranged marriage. They… they had met a few times earlier, but they were just like us when my mother arrived. Strangers,” he says. You nod. “My father, he didn’t want to get married. He didn’t want his freedom taken away. They argued a lot, but eventually, he saw that my mother wasn’t there to take his freedom away or something. They were friends. They didn’t get to see each other much, because of the war that was going on. But they fell in love, eventually. And then I was born, and she spent all her time caring for me. She slept in the same room as mine, to make sure I was still breathing. Nobody was allowed to feed me, but her. She took me outside when she gardened, putting me in a basket. She got into medicine just to figure out what herbs would help me. My father told me that she would walk around the castle with me whenever I couldn’t sleep, until she just couldn’t walk anymore. He had to carry her to her bed.”

You chuckle softly.

“I didn’t get to see my father that much. But whenever he was there, he did his best. He took an interest in my paintings and would joke that if I allowed him to sell them, I would get rich because they were that good. He also taught me how to ride on a horse. That’s what he liked doing the most. Horse riding. Just being free. Away from all the responsibilities. My mother didn’t like that, because she was worried, I would get hurt. But he said that I needed to get hurt to learn things. He was right. My father was quite happy when I went on adventures with Buck. Said that it was good for a boy to get in lots of trouble. It was also his idea to get me military training.”

“I’m assuming your mother didn’t like that?”

“She was furious,” Steve says. “She refused to talk to him for weeks. Whenever they argued, it was always about how to raise me. He said that he knew what a boy needed, and she said that he couldn’t possibly know that, because he was never home. They were relentless, both stubborn people who knew how to make words hurt. I ignored them and took my own path.”

“You sure did, pal,” Bucky says.

Steve looks up to his friend and you hear him chuckle. Bucky puts his hand down on Steve’s shoulder, next to your hand.

“They both loved you so much and wanted the best for you,” Bucky says. “And-”

“What the _hell_?” Clint says. You let go of Steve, who stands up. He extends his hand to help you up, just in time to see the two men in horses rapidly approach. They’re close, almost near the carriage where the man who drove you is waiting.

“What’s going on, Steve?” you ask.

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” he responds. You don’t miss the way he puts his body in front of yours.

“Wait a minute, that’s fucking Klein. I would recognize that man anywhere,” Bucky says. “Something must have happened.”

Steve and Bucky leave you to walk with Clint, walking through the cemetery to greet the two men. You frown, crossing your arms as Clint reassures you that everything’s fine, that those two men are to be trusted.

Something is wrong. You just know it.

One of the men, you assume the one who Bucky recognized, talks to Steve. He looks a bit out of breath and clearly annoyed when Bucky keeps asking him questions. You try to up the pace, wanting to find out what’s going on, when you stumble over a rock. Clint is quick to grab your waist and keep you from falling face flat.

“There you go,” Clint says, but you’re no longer paying attention to him or what’s going on with the two men. You’ve noticed the gravestone on your left.

MAY SHE REST IN PEACE

MARGARET ELIZABETH

 _"PEGGY_ ”

CARTER

You straighten your skirt, looking at the simple gravestone. Every letter carved into it with care. Peggy. You remember the woman from Steve’s stories, a woman who didn’t care what anybody else thought. A woman who took what she wanted, who didn’t let anybody else dictate her life. A woman you can’t help but respect and admire.

“Yeah…” you hear Clint say behind you.

“What did she look like?” you ask. You don’t really know why you’re asking. You just want a full picture of her. You know what she’s like, how she talked, what she wanted in life, but you have no idea how she looked.

“Uh. I… I didn’t know her that well, I just saw her a few times. Dark hair that she wore in complicated hairdos and dark eyes. She wasn’t very tall. An average height, I guess. She was pretty,” Clint says. “Everybody wanted her. But she didn’t settle just for anyone.”

“Good for her.”

You try to form a picture of her. A woman with dark hair and dark eyes. You put a pretty smile on her face. Pearly teeth, red lips. You dress her in comfortable but nice clothing. A sword on a belt. Her hair braided. She stands there, next to her gravestone. She smiles.

“She hung herself.”

You look at Steve.  He looks so tired. You didn’t notice him walking over to you. You frown. “Who? What?”

“The HYDRA woman. She somehow managed to get her hands on some rope and…” Steve trails off. Only then does he notice whose gravestone you’re staring at. He bites his lip. “We need to go home.”

You nod, grabbing his hand and squeezing it again. “We can always come back later if you want to.”

“No, it’s fine,” he says. “Thank you. For coming along.”

You put your arm around his waist, leaning your head against his arm as you walk back to the carriage.

You leave Peggy Carter’s ghost behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	22. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Brief mention of suicide in the beginning when the reader thinks about the HYDRA woman's death. Some sexiness, not straight up smut but it's making out and severely implied smut.

The HYDRA woman haunts you.

You still don’t know her name. She never told anyone, always opting to talk about how HYDRA is everywhere. She didn’t leave a suicide note or anything. It’s chilling.

She was someone’s daughter. Maybe even someone’s sister, someone’s wife, someone’s aunt, someone’s someone. People knew her. She must have had a favorite food and color. Maybe she was allergic to strawberries or she sang when she did the laundry. All of that… gone.

You only knew her as the HYDRA woman, the woman who tried to kill you and cursed you. She died for her cursed beliefs. Always praising HYDRA, the organization who sent her on an impossible mission together with an indoctrinated child. Did she ever doubt? Was there ever a moment where she felt scared or confused? What was it like, to take that rope and hang herself? You’ll never know.

All that you know is that she believed. She believed in something cursed and wicked, an organization that murdered your parents and so many other people. She must have had her reasons. Or maybe it was just easier to believe in HYDRA than to deal with reality.

Steve realizes what’s going on and he tries not to mention her when he talks to you. Whenever you walk in a room and he’s talking to someone about it, he stops. It’s a bit annoying because you don’t want him to feel like he needs to watch what he’s saying around you. You know it’s a big deal. Not only is the chance to gain some insider knowledge of HYDRA gone, but there’s also the new mystery: how did the woman get the rope?

Everybody’s worried. Clint too. He takes you to the training field, to teach you a few new moves. He makes you promise to always wear your dagger with you. “We all need to watch each other’s back,” he mutters. “You never know who’s hiding in the shadows.”

You find yourself looking over your shoulder when you walk through corridors on your own. You try to calm yourself by telling yourself that nothing will happen and even if something does happen, you’ll have many people to protect you, but the paranoia is still there. It’s not good, you know that. It reminds you of what happened after your parents died. You stayed in bed most of the time, but whenever you got up, you felt like a HYDRA soldier was waiting around every corner. It was a horrible feeling, something that you never wished to experience again.

* * *

Steve is setting everything up for another painting session one night when he notices the dagger on your bedside table. You’re in your nightgown, brushing your hair. You don’t need to get all dressed up for this painting session, this is just to get your skin and hair color right.

Steve puts his canvas down, walking over to the table and picking up the dagger. “This is yours, right?”

You look at him via the mirror. “Yes.”

“I remember removing it from your… stocking,” Steve says, swallowing thickly. You smile, remembering that night. That wonderful night, where he slept in the bathtub. Always the gentleman. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you. I got it from Natasha for one of my birthdays,” you say, turning around in your chair. “I’ve never had to use it.”

“You carry it with you, right?”

You nod, standing up. “I’m ready.”

Steve takes a moment to just look at you. It’s a bit unnerving, the way he looks at you. You’re still not comfortable with the way he looks at you and how he treats you; like you’re the most amazing person in this entire world. You can’t help but feel like you’ll disappoint him somehow. You avoid his eyes, trying not to shiver.

You know you look good tonight; you’ve put on your nice white nightgown that could almost pass as an incredibly simple wedding gown. You’re wearing your hair down, all brushed and shiny. When you looked in the mirror earlier you couldn’t help but admire the way you looked. Your face looks better than it did before. You have no idea how or why, but something happened.

From the way Steve looks at you, you’re not the only one in the room who thinks you look good. That gets your heart beating faster.

“Shall we start?” you ask him.

He coughs. “Yes. Yes. Let’s start. Here, you can sit down.”

He sits you down on the stool. You fold your hands in your lap, straightening your spine. You can imagine how you look. The picture of innocence. It’s a bit funny because your mind isn’t all that innocent.

The last few days you’ve only kissed Steve chastely on the lips with you always being the one who initiated. When you slept next to him, he pulled you close, but that was it. It’s nice, being held by him, being able to bury your face in the crook of his neck, but you want more. _More_.

You just don’t know how to ask for it.

Sex isn’t something you ask for, right? It’s not like you can just stand up and say: “Steve, I want to have sex with you again.” It’s not like you would know, you’ve only had sex once, but it doesn’t sound like it happens like that.

While Steve gets to work, you think back to the wedding night. The nerves, the talking and then the pleasure. It was amazing. You want to feel that again, you want him pressed against you, kissing you, touching you, feeling you. You want to make him feel good, too. You want to explore with him. You’re pretty sure that he wants to do that too, but whenever you have the chance to start something, you’re too shy. He’d kiss you goodnight and you would want a lot more, but something inside of you stopped you from pulling him against you and kissing him passionately.

There’s nobody to ask how to get Steve to initiate sex with you without you telling him to. No way that you’re going to ask Darcy or write a letter to Natasha. Pepper’s the best option you have, she’s a married woman who won’t tease you and wasn’t romantically involved with you, but you don’t want her telling Tony about your issue. Also, you wouldn’t be able to stomach reading some tips and tricks about marital sex, knowing where she gained the knowledge from. Pepper and Tony having sex… you really don’t want to think about them that way.

You peer at Steve through your eyelashes. He looks up from his work, smiling warmly at you and the blood rushes to your cheeks. You know he likes you a lot, probably even loves you. He calls you sweetheart and occasionally honey. He takes care of you, has forgiven you. He’s been on your side from day one, looking out for you even when he didn’t have to. You know he likes kissing you and that he enjoyed the sex with you. Since that night he has kissed you a lot, but never did he do anything to initiate sex. A tiny voice inside of you, that cursed insecure one, tells you it’s because he doesn’t want to. The louder voice tells you that he’s just being a gentleman and that with you being sick and crying and screaming all night he was busy taking care of you, not lusting after you. You lick your lips, trying to ignore the voices. You don’t want to get lost inside your head again.

Your legs start falling asleep and Steve notices your restlessness. It’s unusual, normally you’re perfectly content to sit still for a portrait, but today just isn’t the day.

Eventually, he takes his painting brush off the canvas. “Do you want to see what I’ve done so far?” he asks.

Before he finishes his sentence you’re already off the stool, walking over to him. The tiles feel cold underneath your feet and while you put your hand on Steve’s shoulder, you look around the room to find your slippers. When you see the painting, you forget your feet. It’s still not finished, so it looks a bit strange, but every time Steve manages to capture who you are a little bit more. Your skin looks so soft and so real. You feel the strange impulse to lean over and touch even though you know the paint hasn’t dried yet.

Steve pulls you a bit closer, putting his free hand around your waist. You lean in against his body, enjoying the warmth he emits and nuzzling your face in his neck. You hear him chuckle lowly; it seems like the sound came from somewhere deep inside of him.

“What’s going on, honey?” he asks softly, trying to turn to you so he can face you. You don’t allow it. You don’t want him to look you in the eye. You want to stay close like this and just feel, not think.

You press a soft kiss against his skin, moving towards his beard. There, you drop a few more kisses until you reach his ear, almost drowning in his scent. You didn’t know how much you missed that. Another kiss gets pressed against his earlobe and when you feel him shiver, something primal inside of you overtakes you and you gently pull his earlobe between your teeth. If you were in your right mind you would probably die from embarrassment, but you like it and he likes it and that’s all that matters.

“Sweetheart…” he begins, his voice a bit breathy.

You bring your hands from his shoulders to his hair, softly running your fingers through his strands. He’s so soft and he’s yours, your husband, your man. The wedding band on his finger proves it. You pull away from his ear so you can press your lips against his. He responds enthusiastically, putting his painting brush down so he can put his other arm around you.

Kissing him is just as nice as it usually is. You experiment with some tongue, which earns you some groans. The touch, the taste, the feel… everything makes you feel like you’re drunk, drunk of him. You get a little bit braver, running your hands over him, allowing yourself to make some sounds too when something feels nice.

Eventually, Steve cups your cheek with one hand and pulls you away from him, leaving you standing there, breathing heavily, your lips plump and tingly from all the kissing.

“Not that I’m complaining-”

“I want to sleep with you again,” you blurt out before all of the newfound bravery leaves your body. The moment you’ve said it, you wince. His gaze on you is too intense, it’s nothing like the wedding night, it was dark then and he wasn’t able to see you.

“Oh. Oh. That’s… well, that’s…” he stutters, and you’re delighted to see his cheeks get a little pink. He continues to stutter and slowly you feel your confidence disappear. He’s not excited. He hasn’t swept you off your feet and thrown you on the bed to ravage you. You’ve put him on the spot, demanding something from him that he doesn’t want to give you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, taking your hands off him. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why not?” he asks, frowning, refusing to let you go when you try to step away.

“You... you don’t want to.”

“Who said that? I was just a bit surprised, sweetheart. I really liked where we were going. Also…” he begins, his voice deliciously dark, pulling you so close that his nose is against yours and you can feel his breath on your skin. “… you should know that I definitely want to sleep with you too.”

All the blood that’s in your body rushes towards your cheeks. At least, that’s how it feels like. You look at his lips, those soft red lips and you’re once again hit with the intense desire to kiss them again. You angle your head so you can do that, but he stops you.

“Remember what we talked about? The boundaries? You’ll tell me if you don’t like anything, all right?” he asks, and you nod quickly. He smiles, stroking your cheek. “You can always… always tell me about your desires. I’m not going to make fun of you, sweetheart. Never. It’s actually quite sexy.”

“Sexy?”

“You telling me what you want.”

That makes you giggle. The sound of that makes him pull you even closer, something that seems impossible. He presses a few chaste kisses on your lips, laughing with you. It helps and you relax in his arms, feeling a bit lightheaded. You kiss some more, and you pull on his hair again, making him let out a sound that vaguely sounds like a moan. You want him to pick you up and carry you to the bed you share with him, but he’s not making a move. But you know exactly what will get him to do what you want.

“Steve,” you whisper, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing your lips against his ear, letting your teeth glide against his skin. “Steve, I want something.”

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, gasping a little when you kiss his earlobe.

“I want you. I want you inside of me, making me feel so _good_.”

Before you know it, his lips are on yours and he’s standing, hoisting you up so you can wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you to the bed, still kissing you like he just can’t get enough of you. You giggle again, stroking his hair, knowing that he loves you. The thought warms you, making you feel like the most beautiful woman on the entire earth. When he lays you down gently, the portrait long forgotten, he whispers in your ear that he’ll do whatever you want and that he’s going to make you feel amazing.

You don’t doubt that.

* * *

The maid opens the door, immediately dropping to a curtsy when she recognizes you.

“Your majesty,” she stutters. “What can I do for you?”

“Is Jo here?”

Before the maid can answer, you hear a loud scream and then you’re hit by the little girl in question. She has her arms around your waist and buries her face in your stomach. You almost fall over and the maid quickly grabs your arm to help you stay upright.

“Are we going to find clovers?” Jo asks, looking up at you. Her little face looks so much fuller and the smile on her face looks genuine. You reach down to stroke her soft hair.

“You want to go find more?” you ask. When she finally lets you go, she pulls you inside her room. You’ve never been here before, so you take a moment to look around. It’s not a very small room. There’s a window, but no balcony. You notice the two beds, one at each opposite wall, both impeccably made up. The table has fresh flowers on it and a plate with lots of four-leaved-clovers, all dead.

“I have so much luck now,” Jo says when she notices where your eyes have landed upon. You smile and nod.

“You share a room with her?” you ask, turning to the maid.

“Yes, your Majesty. The King didn’t think it would be wise for her to be alone, so I’m here if she needs to go to the bathroom or has a nightmare. I watch her throughout the day too. We mostly go outside. I’ve been teaching her a few songs.”

Jo lets go of your hand, running over to the closet where she tries to put on her shoe. The maid watches her, a look of fondness in her caramel-colored eyes. She looks at you again. “It’s not enough. She’s bored and talks about you all day. Whenever she doesn’t talk about you, your Majesty, she talks about going home. I don’t know what to tell her.”

“It’s all right,” you say. “I understand. Do you know what could help pass the time? Some books. You have my permission to use the royal library and pick the books you think would be nice to read to her. Maybe Jo knows some stories she would like. I don’t know if she can read but she’s the right age, so maybe you could start teaching her?”

“I’ve got my shoes on!” Jo yells, showing you her feet. You bite your lower lip, trying to keep yourself from laughing when you notice she’s put her left shoe on her right foot and her right shoe on her left foot.

You look back to the maid, who’s wringing her hands, swallowing thickly. “That’s… that’s incredibly kind of you, your Majesty…”

“But?”

“I…,” she mumbles something unintelligible.

You frown. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t know how to read,” she says, loud enough now so you can hear her.

The moment she says it, you feel like someone’s punched you in the gut. Of course. Of course, why didn’t you think of that? Not everybody has received the luxuries you have had. You remember what Darcy told you, about the girls not being taught anything. You received an education, you received so many opportunities. This girl, whose name you do not even know, didn’t. You’re standing here, next to her, Queen next to maid. The distance between the two of you has never felt this big before.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine. I was just never taught. Darcy, your maid, we shared a room for some time, and she was teaching me a few things. But then she got another room and I had to go and take care of this minx,” the maid says, brushing a stray lock behind her.

Jo laughs. “Minx.” She then runs over to you, tugging on your hand again. “Are we going outside? Are we? Please?”

You roll your eyes at her. “Tired of being cooped up inside all day? Fine, let’s go. We can go to the stables; you can pet the horses.”

“I’ll get my shawl,” the maid says. “I get quite cold.”

“It’s fine. I’ll take her. I’m sure you’d like a moment for yourself,” you say.

“Are you sure, your Majesty?”

“I’m sure.”

* * *

You watch as Jo is allowed to pet the horses.

The stable manager, a kind man who doesn’t at all mind the presence of an energetic little girl in his workspace, is holding her up so she can reach the brown-haired horse. She giggles, occasionally calling for you to watch as she presses a kiss against the horse, something you don’t really know if the horse likes, but you figure that if the stable manager will keep an eye on her.

You look outside, at the courtyard. A maid walks by, her skirt softly billowing in the wind. You look at her, her round face, her dark hair that’s already turning gray, wondering if she knows how to read. You can’t imagine life without reading books, without being able to write. More than ever do you understand Darcy’s desire: to teach.

Jo yells again and you turn towards her. She’s sitting on the back of the horse now, with the help of the stable manager, who grins at you and tells you about how she is a natural with animals.

You nod and smile, looking back at the now empty courtyard.

Slowly the wheels in your mind start turning and a plan starts forming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely kudos and comments, they brighten my day!  
> Sorry for the late update, I've been busy with lots of stuff.
> 
> We're slowly nearing the end, readers. According to my outline, you guys are getting ten more chapters and then it's finished. I was a bit shocked when I realized I've written like 67 thousand words already, like, that's pretty much a novel and it's not even in my native language! I really didn't know that I would come this far when I started this, but I'm so glad I did and that I get to share my ideas with you guys! You're the best readers! <3


	23. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

You put on the hat, tightening the chin straps. You take a moment to look at yourself in the mirror, making sure that you’re all set. Steve could be here any minute to announce that he’s leaving, and you have to be ready by then. You straighten your skirt, pinching your cheeks and then sit down on your comfortable chair. He’s not here yet, so you have time to read your letter.

Pepper’s handwriting is always a joy to read. Everything about that woman is so neat, so precise. You scan the letter, not noticing any of the scribbles that indicate Tony wrote something. You won’t hold it against him, you know he’s busy. Tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, you begin to read the letter.

_Dear Y/N,_

_I hope you’re doing well. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to write to you a bit earlier, but I’ve been sick. I was not expecting to have so much morning sickness. Well, they call it morning sickness, but it was more like all the time sickness._

_Everything here is going just like it’s supposed to be. Tony is busy. The men from America arrived, quite a rowdy crowd, but they seem strong and skilled. I think Natasha was a bit disappointed that General Maximoff didn’t come and I saw Tony expectantly lookout for a bow and arrow. I suppose everyone has their heroes._

_I’ve gained a bit more weight, but it’s easy to hide with my dresses. My tailor has done a marvelous job. We’re keeping it a secret until my birthday. We’ll announce it then. I’m a bit nervous, I can’t imagine how much questions I will have to answer. It’s only natural, I’m carrying the Stark heir after all, but I quite like my peace. Well, peace, there isn’t much of it around here. Natasha has started some kind of training camp for women and they’re running around here all day, shouting orders at each other and taking laps. I’ve declined every offer to join, but when I was watching them, I thought of you and how much you would have liked to be here for this project. I know your mother wasn’t really for teaching women how to fight and I also know that you still taught some tricks from Natasha. If this baby turns out to be a girl, I’ll have Natasha teaching her some things. It never hurts to be prepared, right?_

_The idea of being a mother is a bit frightening if I’m being honest. I’ll do my best and I know Tony and I are going to love this child, but still, this baby is going to be so dependent on us. This child needs us to stay alive. I keep worrying about what I will do wrong. It’s so bad that I lie awake all night, wondering about what I’ll do in all kind of hypothetical scenarios. It’s silly, and what’s even sillier is that Tony is doing the same. He says he’s not, but I know he’s not asleep and I know the exact way he tosses and turns when he’s worried by now. It’s a weird experience, to realize that you know the other person so well. I suppose you’ll have that with Steve too. That just by the way he walks or sighs you can know what’s going on. Or other intimate knowledge that’s only possessed by you. That’s marriage._

_I hope your marriage is doing well. I know everything was a bit rocky and that you were nervous and unsure, but Steve is truly a good man. I know the two of you will figure it out together. It doesn’t matter if it isn’t easy in the beginning. Just keep working on it. See him as your ally. If there’s ever anything that you want to talk to me about or you need my advice, don’t be afraid to write. You know I’m here for you and that I love you. You’re my sister._

_There’s something that I need to write to you about. I don’t really know how to talk to Tony about this and I still don’t have a lot of close friends here. I’m not about to talk to my ladies in waiting about things like this. It’s hard, being a Queen. I suppose you know that too._

_The matter is my mother. You know I’ve had my troubles with her after she left my father and me when I was six to go and wander and marry again. You met her once, remember, the red-haired woman at our wedding. I had to invite her, honestly, it was a bit of a surprise that she turned up. Now, she’s sent me a letter. She says she is struggling, that her new husband has sent her away and that she’s now working at a tavern. The man owning it took pity on her and lets her sleep in the stables. Can you imagine? She’s begging me if she can come and stay at the palace. I don’t know if I can handle having her around here. I’m still angry at her for leaving and I know I’d feel guilty towards my father. Before he died, he told he would never forgive her for leaving. But I can hardly let my own mother sleep in the stables of some tavern. Tony knows the stress it would bring, so if I tell her she’s coming to stay with us he’ll start fussing. I honestly don’t know what to do. It’s another thing that I lie awake about at night. I’d love to hear your thoughts about this subject, it was honestly such a relief to just write this down on paper. I’ve been walking around with what seems like a stone in my stomach for days after I received her letter._

_I need to wrap this up. Take care of yourself and don’t worry about me. Do let me know how everything is going there and if you’re doing well. I heard from one of my sources there that you were sick, hopefully you're feeling better now!_

_With love,_

_Pepper_

You fold up the letter, sighing loudly. You do remember Pepper’s mother from the wedding. She had come up to you, shaking your hand a bit too roughly. She had been dressed quite elegantly, but still, she hadn’t fit in with the crowd. Perhaps it was the look in her eyes, so wild, nothing like neat Pepper and her rich gentlemanly father that you had met a few times. Pepper had appeared at your side, quickly ushering her mother away, her face grim. The tension between them had been palpable. Later, Tony had told you about it. Pepper didn’t like to talk about the fact that her mother had left, it was very clearly a sore spot for her, so you had never prodded it.

You would have to write a letter back later, you decided, expressing your support in her and telling her that you were confident that she would come to a good decision. You truly had no idea what to do if you were in her shoes. Before you could think more about the problem, the door of the room opened, and Steve entered.

He walked over to the closet before he stopped, looking at you with a frown. “…good morning, sweetheart?”

“Good morning,” you said, your tone as sweet as possible. “Where are you going?”

“I was just… getting my cloak. Are you going somewhere?” he asks, pointing towards your dress. “We can go for a walk later, if you want to, I just have to do something…”

“Don’t bother,” you say, standing up, leaving the letter the little table. “Bucky already told me, Steve. I know you’re going to bury her.”

Steve sighed, reaching up to rub his beard. “Sweetheart…”

“Please let me come. Please.”

“Why?”

“I just feel like I need to.”

Steve walks over to you, putting his hands on your shoulders, squeezing softly. “You don’t need to do anything. You don’t owe this woman anything, alright? Don’t you remember that she tried to kill you?”

You nod, looking up at him. There’s a strange look in his blue eyes, something that you can’t quite place.

“Steve,” you whisper. “Please.” You stand on your tiptoes, pressing a kiss against his throat before sucking, soft enough to not leave a mark but hard enough for him to feel it. When you feel him swallow thickly, you smile against his skin.

“You’re a devilish woman, you know that right?” he says. “I’m quite sure you’re a witch, actually. You always manage to use your magic on me.”

“Does that mean I can come?” you ask, leaning your head against his shoulder.

He pulls you close, almost crushing your hat. He sighs, rubbing a hand over your back. “If you’re sure you really want this, then yes.”

* * *

The HYDRA woman will be buried nameless. Her coffin is a simple one, and save from you, Steve and the men there to dig the grave and lower the casket, there’s no one else. The parish priest comes by, to bless with some reluctance. You hold on to Steve’s arm, looking at the coffin while the men get to work.

It’s cold in the morning and the harsh wind threatens to take your hat. You reach up to hold it against your head. Your feet feel cold, even in your boots. You bury your face in Steve’s chest. You’re not going to admit it, ever, but maybe you shouldn’t have come.

It had seemed a bright idea when Bucky had mentioned it the day before. Almost casually. Knowing how tactical he is, you should have known it wasn’t a slip-up. He had shown some great actor skills when he had pretended to be shocked when you told him that Steve hadn’t said anything to you about the burial. What was his plan? Why did he say it? Was it for you or for Steve? Or was it something else? You’ll never know. You had thought about it and somehow the feeling that it was your duty to come had appeared. Even though that woman was horrible and had tried to kill you, you still felt like nobody deserved a funeral like this. You don’t know what you were expecting to happen, really. Maybe you just wanted answers. A name, an explanation. Something more than just the brief glimpse you had of her when she had said ‘Hail HYDRA’ and tried to stab you. Anything to tell you more about this woman, who had killed herself inside the palace you lived in.

It’s just all so awful. Deep down, you know that this woman wasn’t all evil. That she wasn’t born hailing HYDRA, that she must have been something better once. You’ve always believed this, that nobody’s born evil. That even the biggest monsters have something human inside of them. In the most horrible circumstances, maybe you would be capable of killing someone. No, you’re sure that you would if you had to protect any of your loved ones. If Steve was at risk or Tony, Pepper, Natasha, Darcy, Clint… even Bucky and Wanda. Your hypothetical children. Sure, what the HYDRA woman did was different, but the real monsters are the HYDRA leaders, the one who hid in the shadows as she tried to do the dirty work.

Steve draws you close when the men pick up the casket and slowly lower it in the ground. The wind howls and you close your eyes, remembering your parents’ funeral and the emptiness you felt when their caskets were lowered. The tears from the people around you, the heartbreaking sound of Tony trying to hold his tears back, and all you could do was sit there. Not able to move, just staring. Feeling like you were nothing.

You taste the salt of tears on your lips and it’s only then that you realize that you’re crying. You’re crying as they bury the woman who tried to kill you and that makes the lump in your throat even bigger. You’re able to cry here, but you weren’t able to at your parents’ funeral? Stupid, stupid, stupid, _stupid_. You let out a choked sob, hanging on to Steve who notices what’s going on.

“Hey, hey, hey, Y/N,” you hear him say, cupping your cheeks. “It’s all right, I’ve got you.”

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” you admit to him, choked up.

“I know,” Steve says, taking one of your hands to press a kiss against the back of it. “It’s okay, that happens.”

He takes you along, walking away from the men, trying to distract you from the burying and to give you some privacy. His thoughtfulness only makes more tears come and you try to wipe them away as fast as you can. He notices, though. The hat threatens to get ripped off your head again by the wind and you decide to just take it off, letting your hair fall loose. You clutch the hat against your stomach, looking at the ground underneath your feet.

“Talk to me,” Steve says softly.

“I’m so confused. I don’t understand what’s happening, I really don’t know why I’m crying. It’s so stupid.”

“That’s normal,” Steve tells you. “Remember that I told you that I know what trauma can do to a person? I’ve fought in wars; I’ve been on the battlefield. Seeing people die, losing people you care about, it changes you.”

“I didn’t cry,” you blurt out. “I didn’t cry at their funeral. I cried after, when I just couldn’t get out of bed, but I didn’t when my parents were buried.”

“Do you feel guilty about that?”

“Of course, I do. Who doesn’t cry at their parents’ funeral?”

You know that you’re not the only one who found the no tears thing at the funeral odd. Later, you had heard two women talking. The one had remarked to the other about how icy you were and that you probably didn’t even love your parents. You had wandered through the reception hall after hearing that, the pain in your stomach even worse.

“People who are shocked,” Steve says. “Did you love your parents?”

“Yes.” It’s the truth.

“It isn’t about the outside. I bet you were incredibly sad on the inside, still trying to process the fact that you would have to live a life without them. You lost both of your parents at the same time during an incredibly horrible experience on a night that should have been a happy night. Would you blame someone else in the same situation who also didn’t cry?”

You shake your head. No, you wouldn’t.

“Traumatic experiences mess with your head. When I came back from a battle where many of my men had died, I… I couldn’t stand loud noises. Sounds like a lid being put on a pot or a woman laughing loudly. Stupid, mundane sounds that are everywhere in the palace. I felt weak and damaged,” Steve says, his tone almost bitter. “I beat myself up about it and told myself to be a little braver. It didn’t work. It’s better now, but there are still times where…”

You nod.

“What I’m trying to say, is that these experiences stay with you. There’s no easy way to say it, but it’s there now. Unfortunately, you can’t go back to the past, but you can create a new normal. Being damaged doesn’t mean that you’re worthless or that you’re not allowed to be happy.”

You nod again.

“Talking helps. I talked a lot with Buck and Sam. You can always talk to me or if you want to talk to someone else, please do that,” Steve says. “And you can cry whenever you want to.”

You giggle at that, wiping away the last stray tears.

“I imagine all the uncertainty about HYDRA and the security measures aren’t really helping a lot,” Steve says.

“It’s fine, I understand why Clint is all worked up.”

“I promise I’ll do anything in my power to protect you,” Steve says. “And you’ve got your dagger. Wanda told me that you can protect yourself quite well.”

“Do you worry a lot?”

Steve sighs at that, looking over your shoulder. His posture changes slightly and you know he doesn’t really want to talk about it. Ignoring that, you push through, cupping his cheek and making him look at you.

“Steve. Everything that’s going stresses me out and I’m just the Queen consort. I can’t imagine the stress that you’re having,” you say.

“You shouldn’t worry about me, darling.”

“I’m your wife. It’s my duty to do that.”

“That’s very sweet of you, but please don’t,” Steve says, wrapping his arm around your waist. “I’ve got it all under control. And I don’t have to do it alone. There’s just a bit of paranoia about who supplied the rope, and our undercover operatives aren’t really getting anywhere.”

“Regardless, you can always talk to me. And cry whenever you want to,” you say, and he laughs at that. It’s a nice sound and something in your chest feels warm at the fact that you managed to pull that sound out of him.

“Using my own words against me? Little witch,” he murmurs, before pulling you along.

* * *

“We still haven’t talked about payment,” Darcy says, so serious that you stop peeling the potato. You have no idea what to say and it must show on your face because a few seconds later Darcy starts laughing so loudly that you’re worried she’ll spit on you.

“I’m pulling your leg, Sleeping Beauty! Steve pays me well; I don’t need anything more. And this is exactly what I’ve been wanting to do. Well, a little bit scaled-down, but I’m up for it. Danielle is a quick learner and Jo is a sweet thing. I like children.”

“I know you do,” you say. You’ve seen Darcy run around with a group of children from time to time, laughing and playing with them while their parents were busy with work. She’s also told you loads of stories about her siblings, all of whom she adores.

“You do realize that this means you’ll have to get a new maid assigned?” Darcy asks.

“A maid who actually does her damn job?” you say, with enough humor in your tone to let her know you’re only teasing her. “It’s fine, Darcy. This is really important.”

“Yes. It is,” she says, taking another potato from the pile. The two of you are sitting in the kitchens. You found her here, hiding away from another servant that she’s in an argument with and during your conversation the two of you noticed the potatoes and started peeling, just to do something. The cook would be grateful, Darcy assured you.

“You know, I used to do this at home all the time. I was incredibly good at it, I managed to peel the potatoes in record time,” Darcy says, looking up at you. “I did it for my mother every time we ate potatoes. She hated doing it, so to pay me back, she would get a book for me when she went to the market every six months.”

“Smart,” you comment, struggling with your own potato. Unlike Darcy, you didn’t grow up peeling potatoes. You had always had other people do it for you. “So, how is everything going with Bucky?”

She rolls her eyes. “He’s up to something, I just know it. We’re good, no hard feeling anymore, but just the way he’s walking around…”

“Do you think he’s going to ask Sam out?”

“He’s too much of a coward to do that,” Darcy comments, picking up another potato. You groan loudly at the sight of that.

“I’ve been talking to this guy. His name is Ian, he works as a guard. He’s nice,” Darcy says, sharing a conspiratorial look with you. “Real _nice_ , if you get what I’m saying.”

“Darcy!” You exclaim, giggling. “God, you really are shameless.”

“I’ve been told it’s my best quality.”

The door of the kitchen opens, and the cook, Anne, enters with a few other women, carrying heavy crates. Anne stops when she sees the two of you, letting out a gasp when she realizes that the Queen of the palace is sitting at the kitchen table and peeling her potatoes.

“Oh, your Majesty, your hands, you’ll get them all dirty!” she exclaims, running over to you to take the potatoes away, glaring at Darcy. “You really shouldn’t have, ma’am, it’s my job, I don’t want you to think-”

You’re no longer paying attention to her because suddenly all you can focus on is the horrible feeling in your stomach and the smell that’s suddenly everywhere. It’s something in the crates, you’re sure of it, the smell so horrible that you immediately gag, sweating, trying to stand up to run away but then it’s too late. You try your best to fight it, but you can’t and then you’re grabbing the bowl that’s no empty, retching into it, heaving loudly.

It’s silent in the kitchen for a moment until Darcy curses loudly. You feel a hand on your back that you guess is Anne’s and you hear the warm woman’s voice demand that someone get you some water. You close your eyes, fighting the sudden dizziness.

“It’s fine, we’ll clean it up in a moment, your Majesty,” Anne tells you, supporting you so you can sit down again. You bury your face in your hands.

“I… oh, that smell…” you groan.

“It’s the fish,” Darcy says. “It’s not really that bad. I didn’t know you hated fish that bad.”

“I don’t,” you whisper, soft enough so that no one can hear you. You gladly take the glass of water that one of the maids gets you, swallowing the cool liquid, trying to get your stomach under control. Anne and the rest carry out the crate with fish just as you feel another wave of nausea.

“Do you want me to get Steve?” Darcy asks. She’s sitting next to you now, the look on her face worried as she rubs your arm comfortingly.

“It’s fine. I think I’m getting sick again. The flu or something,” you say, not half convinced yourself. Darcy isn’t either, but she doesn’t say anything. It’s one of the things you appreciate about her. Sure, she’s usually a loud one, but she knows when she just needs to be there, silently.

Anne comes back, babbling about how she’ll make you some ginger tea. “It really helps against nausea; I’ll have it ready for you in ten!”

You press your fingers to your lips, fighting another wave all the while just one thought echoes through your mind: “It’s possible, it’s possible, it’s possible, it’s possible… it could be...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, I wish I could promise you the next update will be here fast, but I really don't know when it will be here. It could be another week, sorry, or maybe I'll suddenly find some time to write a chapter and it's out in three days... I really don't know anymore! Life's busy and upcoming week will be even busier!
> 
> As always, I love the comments and kudos you leave, I really appreciate them all!


	24. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know... I know, I took my time, but here I am with a fluffy chapter, with a little bit of heartbreak! Enjoy it while it lasts, dear readers, because soon we'll get loads of angst!

It’s a lazy Sunday morning when you wake up by the feeling of plush lips pressed against your throat. You fight the urge to open your eyes, instead choosing to relax into the pillows and just enjoy the feeling of your husband waking you up in a _very_ enjoyable way. When he softly takes some of your skin between his teeth and applies some pressure, you giggle. He chuckles and around that moment do you realize that something’s off. His lips, his laugh, that’s all Steve, but there’s something missing. You don’t know what it is, but it’s so unsettling that the mood is immediately gone, and you open your eyes, blinking up at Steve.

It’s Steve, minus his beard.

That’s what was missing, you realize, the feeling of his beard rubbing against your skin. You reach up, cupping his smooth cheek. “What did you do?”

“I changed it a little bit,” he says, smiling softly. “Do you like it?”

“A little bit, huh,” you comment, pulling him down to kiss him. It’s not a bad look on him, he’s handsome either way and this way you can really admire his cheekbones and jaw. Still, you find yourself missing his beard. The way it was both soft and rough at the same time. Your fingers tangle into his locks, he hasn’t cut his hair short, something that you’re grateful for. You like holding on to him like this when you kiss.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You look good either way,” you say, pressing a few kisses on his cheek. “You’re my handsome man.”

You giggle after that, the sound of it so light and airy that it even surprises you. He looks at you, his eyes a bit wide, and then they darken, growling before he slowly starts unbuttoning your nightgown.

“You’re mine,” you continue, “all mine.”

He growls again, pressing more kisses on every bit of exposed skin that he can reach.

“My husband.”

“My wife.”

* * *

When you get dressed in the closet, you inspect your lower stomach just like the days before. Since the throwing up incident in the kitchen, you’ve had more bouts of nausea. Always in the morning, most of the time when you smell something pungent, but sometimes without a reason. You haven’t told Steve. You don’t want him to worry. It could just be the flu after all. The only one who knows of your morning sickness is the cook Anne, who you come to ask for ginger tea whenever you’ve thrown up again.

Your belly is still a bit round and firm, but you can’t call it a real belly yet. It could just be weight gain. But there’s this little voice inside of you, telling you to stop coming up with excuses to not face what’s happening. You promise yourself that you’ll tell Steve of your suspicions soon and that you’ll visit the healer. Soon. It’s just your secret right now. It leaves you feeling almost giddy, the same feeling as when you were younger, and you and Natasha had smuggled that stray cat inside without your mother noticing. You like secrets, fun secrets that don’t hurt people.

You eat breakfast with Steve, rolling your eyes at him when he pushes you to eat more. You don’t want to eat a lot, not wanting to trigger your nausea. You drink a lot of tea and eat oatmeal with blueberries. When you bring another spoonful to your mouth you catch Steve staring at you. Now that you’re not half asleep you take another look at his clean-shaven face. It’s really not bad. He looks a bit like the young Steve in his royal portrait. He has some wrinkles around his blue eyes, he’s aged, but he still looks incredibly good.

“Why did you do it?” you ask him.

“Do what?”

“Shave.”

“Oh… I just… I looked in the mirror and I suddenly realized that it was becoming a bit much,” Steve says.

“It was fine.”

“Are you sad I shaved, sweetheart?” Steve asks, arching his eyebrow.

“No!” you protest. “I’m just taking it all in, alright? I’ve never really seen you before without your beard. And I think that there’s more to it.”

“More to me shaving my beard… Y/N, it was just annoying me,” Steve says, taking another bite of his toast.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Okay, if you say so,” you tell him, leaning back into your chair, drinking a bit of your already cold tea. You know there’s more to it. It’s just a gut feeling, but your gut is usually right. And you know exactly how to get a man to talk. You’ve played this game with Tony hundreds of times.

Playing it cool, you finish your cup. You twiddle your thumbs for a minute, looking out the window. It’s a beautiful day. You glance at Steve, who’s trying to ignore you. You let out a loud sigh, leaning even more back, pushing out your lower lip in an almost pout. When you look at Steve again you know you’ve won.

“Fine,” he sighs. “There’s a bit more to it.”

You suppress a smug smile, leaning forward. “What then?”

“I… I talked to Darcy and she told me that you’ve been experiencing morning sickness… Well, I kind of pulled it out of her, so need to get mad at her, I just wanted to know how you’ve been doing. Not in the spying kind of way, oh, god,” Steve buries his face in his hands. “I’m… Y/N, I just wanted to know if you seemed alright to you. That’s all. I’m sorry. But, when she told me that, it got me thinking about… well, our baby. And I remembered that when Bucky’s sister came around with her baby, the baby was really scared of my beard, and I don’t want our baby to get scared of me because of my beard. So, that’s it.”

You take a moment to process what he’s just told you and then you can’t help but chuckle. “You shaved your beard because of a baby that’s possibly not even here?”

“Well, you have been having morning sickness, haven’t you?”

“It doesn’t have to mean that I’m pregnant,” you say. He gives you one of his looks and you sigh. “Alright, I’ll admit that it’s very likely, but…”

“Hey, it’s fine, sweetheart,” Steve says, reaching over the table to grab your hand and squeeze it softly. “We’ll just see, I mean, if you’re pregnant, then we’ll eventually know, right?”

You nod. “But seriously, you shaved your beard because it’s possible that in nine months there’ll be a baby that could be scared of beards?”

“I don’t want to accidentally do anything that could harm a good relationship with my child,” Steve says. “I want to be a good father.”

“And you’ll be a good father. A really good one. The way you’ve been taking care of me… how you can be stern and kind at the same time? You’ll be the best and put all the other fathers to shame and make me look like a lousy parent in comparison to you.”

He laughs at that, walking over to you and kneeling down in front of you. Carefully he puts his hands on your hips, stroking the fabric of the dress, squeezing just hard enough that you can feel it. He looks at your stomach like he wants to lean over and press his face against it, but he doesn’t have the guts to do it.

He looks up at you. “How do you feel about it? Having a baby?”

“Isn’t that my duty? Bear you heirs?”

He clicks his tongue at you. “Y/N, I’m not asking how the Queen consort feels about having a baby, I’m asking how _you’re_ feeling about having a baby.”

“I don’t know yet. But as long as I’m doing it all with you, I can do it.”

* * *

It’s only in the garden that you realize who you’ll have to deal with now after Steve knows about the possible pregnancy.

Mother hen Steve Rogers.

Bucky warned you about that particular Steve. He did it during a dinner one night where the wine was flowing richly and everybody kind of paired up. Usually, when that happened, Sam and Bucky ended up in a corner, talking to each other softly so that everyone assumed they were just annoying each other like normal. But that night Sam was busy trying to convince Wanda to do some stupid dare and Bucky ended up with you. After some small talk, the conversation shifted to Steve and Bucky told you all the Steve’s there are. Just Steve. Stubborn Steve. Jokester Steve. Jealous Steve. But most importantly mother hen Steve Rogers.

“You see, that’s the funniest one. I never imagined him being a mother hen, because, y’know, he used to be this little shit that got into all sorts of trouble and I was the mother hen, running after him, dragging him away before he got his ass kicked. But he became mother hen Steve Rogers a few years ago when I got sick, and I mean, really sick, almost dying kind of sick. He was constantly fussing over me, y’know, hanging over me, the man wanted to carry me to the bathroom. Oh, you have no idea what will hit you when you get pregnant, princess, because… oh… mother hen Steve Rogers for 9 months, that’ll be something.”

You’ve caught a few glimpses of mother hen Steve Rogers when you weren’t feeling well, but you know you’ll have to deal with the real deal very soon.

You trail behind your husband. When he looks over his shoulder at you, you can’t help but smile when you see his shaven cheeks. It’s funny and sweet at the same time. You can just imagine him shaving his beard in the bathroom, all for his child. It’s so incredibly Steve like, like that time he slept in the bathtub. So kind, so considerate.

You leave Steve to get your gloves from the little shed and some of your tools. When you come back, he immediately takes them from you. “Why don’t you sit down, sweetheart?”

“But…”

“I can take care of this. Do you want me to get you a cushion so you can sit more comfortably on the bench?”

“But…”

“It’s a bit chilly, you can just go and sit inside if you want.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “Do you want me gone, Steve?”

“I’m not saying that.”

“Well, then why aren’t you letting me garden with you?”

“I… Y/N, I just think it’s better if you take it easy. For now. You have to be careful.”

You smile at him, laughing softly. There he is, mother hen Steve Rogers. Your laughter obviously annoys Steve, which shows from the way his jaw clenches.

“Y/N, please…”

You laugh again. “Steve, you don’t even know if I’m pregnant. And besides, there are farmer women out there with gigantic bellies and they’re still doing their work. I think I can handle sitting on my knees and pulling weeds, thank you very much.”

“I know that,” Steve says, absentmindedly reaching towards you to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “I know… you’re right… I just want everything to be okay. I’m sorry.”

You know he means it. And you do get why he’s worried. You know that when Sarah Rogers was pregnant with your husband, it was a difficult one, and her labor was a dangerous one. She tried to get pregnant after that, Steve told you that one night, but she had never been able to carry a baby for more than a few months. It broke something inside of her, and in her family when they saw her struggling. You know that Steve just wants you and the hypothetical baby safe. You can’t hate him for that.

You grab his hand, pressing a kiss against the back of it. “Everything _is_ going to be okay.”

The look on his face tells you that you haven’t convinced him fully yet, but at least he understands that he needs to pull back a little. So, you put on your gardening gloves and let him help you to sit down on the ground. He stays close as if pulling a stubborn weed out of the ground will be the cause of a miscarriage. You put the hand you don’t need for work on his thigh, squeezing softly to let him know that you’re there for him. He puts his hand over yours, the gesture simple, but comforting all the same.

* * *

The giddy feeling of having a secret hasn’t gone now that Steve knows that it’s possible that you’re pregnant. If anything, it has only multiplied. Now the both of you share a secret. It’s the two of you against the world. You don’t want to get too excited, because what if it’s nothing? But it’s hard, you immediately realize that.

You realize it when Steve puts his hand on your waist, almost possessively, when he sees a woman walking by with a baby on her hip. Or when you look at the swing and you can’t help but imagine a little child that the two of you made, swing back and forth, _free_. Even though nothing’s certain, at dinner, Steve doesn’t pour a glass of wine for himself. When you ask him why, he tells you that if you’re not allowed to drink any wine during your pregnancy, he won’t either. There’s no rare cooked meat either. When you get dressed, Steve warns you to not pull the corset too tight, because that could be dangerous. You need to get enough sleep, he reminds you, and you catch him cupping your lower belly in his sleep whenever you wake up in the middle of the night to pee.

It all becomes a bit too much when the tailor comes to take some measurements for new summer dresses. You didn’t bring your summer dresses when you came here and even if you had taken them with you, you wouldn’t have used them. They’re far too simple for a queen of America. You’ll have loads of events you’ll have to attend and there’s no way that you’ll appear in a gingham dress. Your mother would turn in her grave.

Steve is there, watching as the man puts some pins in place and uses the measuring tape. When the tailor puts his hands on your waist, you can feel the tremble. Steve is definitely making him nervous, with the low sounds in the back of his throat when the tailors hands come anywhere close to your behind or your breasts. You shoot Steve a warning look and he raises his hands, trying to appear innocent.

It’s funny, because you only know Steve as the sweet gentleman. His subjects know he’s a fair and kind ruler, but everyone also knows that you don’t mess with him or touch anything that’s his. It makes you shiver, the thought that you’re _his_. Steve’s an excellent fighter and the way he can use his shield and sword is surely on the mind of the man who now moves behind you.

“Right,” the man finally says. “I’ve got it now. If you’ll just stand still for a few more moments, your Majesty, and I’ll remove the pins.”

“Of course,” you answer.

When the pins are gone, you step of the tiny pedestal, helped by Steve.

“I estimate it’ll take around two weeks to finish the dresses. We’ve got the designs, we just need to start actually sowing,” the man says.

“That sounds good,” you say, leaning against Steve a bit.

“What kind of fabrics will you use?” Steve asks.

The question is surprising, causing you to turn your head towards him and the tailor to splutter. “I was thinking…”

“You need to use fabric that can withstand a bit of a stretch,” Steve says, and it takes the man a few moments to realize what exactly Steve is talking about.

He nods quickly. “Of course, your Majesty, of course. I’ll keep that in mind.”

When the tailor shuts the door behind him, you turn fully towards Steve and slap his chest. It’s not a playful slap, you’ve put a bit more force behind it, but you know it won’t hurt him. He’s a lot stronger than you, you would have to use every available muscle to really make him hurt.

“What was that for!” Steve exclaims as you walk over to the table to pour yourself a glass of water.

“It’s a possibility, Steve, just a possibility. It’s an if!” you say, bringing the cup towards your lips and taking a big gulp. “You barely know the man, what if he goes around telling everybody that I’m pregnant?”

“I do know him. He was trained by the tailor who made my mothers dresses most of her life, before he took over. I got him here to make Wanda a dress for a special occasion. He’s discreet, trust me,” Steve tells you. “I’m really sorry, I just…”

Before he can continue, the door slams open and Darcy enters in a flurry. You haven’t seen her a lot lately; she’s been busy with Jo and Danielle. You’ve seen her running around with books, dragging Jo and Danielle to the gardens to learn there in an environment that she described as ‘creatively stimulating’. She’s happy and enthusiastic, you know that. You know she liked spending time with you, but being a personal maid really wasn’t her dream job. The new maid that you’ve gotten is a demure blonde who scrubs the bathroom and changes the sheets every day.

“There you are, I’ve been all over the palace to find you two!” Darcy exclaims before taking one good look at Steve. Her mouth falls open in shock. “What the… what happened to your face, moron?”

“I shaved, Darcy, I shaved,” Steve says, sighing.

“What’s going on?” you ask her, putting down your glass, the fight with Steve all forgotten.

“I figured it out. You see, I was talking with Danielle about Thor, because she thinks he’s really hot and suddenly Jo walks in and she’s drawn something, but it’s crap, so I can’t see what it is, so I ask her what it is. Finally, she explains what it is. She calls it the rainbow bridge and that she went to see it with her mommy.”

The look on Steve’s face is one of recognition. You frown, not understanding. “Okay?”

“She’s talking about the Bifrost. The famous bridge in Asgard,” Darcy yells. “How have you not heard of it, Y/N?”

“Darcy… This means that we know where she’s from,” Steve says. “That’s… that’s wonderful.”

“I know!”

Darcy squeals some more and Steve starts talking about how he’ll send Thor a letter to ask him if he can do something to find out where exactly in Asgard Jo’s from. And then there’s Darcy, who thinks she can get Jane Foster to pull some strings. The excitement is apparent between the two of them and that only worsens the strange feeling in your stomach.

Why aren’t you excited?

“Sweetheart?” Steve looks at you and you force yourself to smile.

“That’s wonderful news,” you say, your voice strange to your own ears. You reach up towards your face,

“I think a picknick would be fun. To celebrate. Jo is constantly asking me for a picknick.”

When Steve puts his arm around you, pulling you close, you swallow in spite of the lump in your throat.

* * *

It’s not the first time you’re incredibly grateful for the speed that Anne works at, and you’re sure it won’t be the last. The cook whips up a entire basket for the picknick in a half hour. You help her the best you can. It’s not much and you know she’s just humoring you when she asks you to cut up the grapes, but it at least gives you something to do.

In the kitchen, close to the warmth of the fire, you try to calm yourself. Jo isn’t leaving yet, you tell yourself. Figuring out where exactly she’s from will take time, and even then, it could be that there are no living relatives. You feel guilty for almost hoping for that to happen, because you know she can’t stay here forever. She’ll have to go to an orphanage, and you could never wish for her to go to a place like that.

You should be happy. Happy that you’re one step closer to giving Jo what she wants. Hasn’t she asked you when she can go home every time you saw her? She’s a little girl who’s lost and needs to go back to the place she knows, to people she knows. That would be best for her.

You’ll miss her. You’ll miss her laughter, just her presence in the palace. There aren’t a lot of children around here, most of the people here are servants, so the sight of a child running around or playing a game is nice. It reminds you of happy things, of possible children, making the palace unsafe with their imaginary games. You’ll miss her lucky clovers and her hugs. The way she smiles. It’s a different smile than she gives the others. It’s a smile she has reserved for you, a special smile. A smile you earned the moment you stepped in the dungeons and gained her trust.

Anne puts a few sandwiches in the basket. “No sickness today, your Majesty?”

You shake your head. “Thankfully, no.”

“That’s good to hear,” Anne says. “I think we’re done. I’m sure Jo will enjoy this.”

“I hope so. I’m… I really want this to be good for her. Everything needs to be right,” you mutter, more to yourself than to Anne. You wash your hands and then run your fingers through your hair, trying to tame it a bit.

“If I may speak freely, you fuss too much, your Majesty,” Anne says, picking up the basket. “As long as you’re there and you bring some pie, I’m sure she’ll be happy. Children don’t need a lot to have a good time.”

She smiles. It’s a reassuring one.

“Really?”

“Really,” she tells you.

You hate how insecure you are. But the truth is that you don’t have a lot of experience with children. You love children, their innocence, their jokes, their stories, and you know the basics of childcare, but you’ve just never been around a lot of children. You were the youngest, born when Tony was already running around. Natasha was older than you, someone who tugged you along. You were taught in private and kept away from the commoner’s children. You were raised away from the world. Even though you know that your upbringing gave you many benefits and that your parents did it to protect you, you can’t help but feel you missed out on something. Like being on a swing.

You vow to yourself that you’ll do better, when it’s your time. Just like Tony.

A bit more liberties, some more verbal affection. No favoritism or ta oo heavy focus on feminine and masculine things. Just love.

You take the basket from Anne, thanking her for her help. She shushes you, telling you that it’s her job. When you leave, she wishes you good luck.

Steve meets you outside, immediately taking the basket.

“You shouldn’t carry heavy things!” he scolds you, making sure that you’re wearing your shawl even though it’s late spring. You press a kiss on his cheek, telling him to stop being so worried.

“So, where are we going?” Steve asks you, finally.

“There’s an oak tree with clovers nearby. Jo and I went there before. It’ll be perfect.”

* * *

And perfect, it is.

You put the blanket down, the basket to the side. There’s still some time before Darcy will arrive with Jo. She’s been tasked to bring the little girl here under the guise of a walk. It’ll be an amazing surprise and you can’t wait to see the look on Jo’s face when she realizes there’s a picknick for her.

The thought brings some tears to your eyes. You blink furiously, trying to get rid of them. Steve notices, he always does.

“This looks amazing,” he says. “Come on, honey, sit down.”

He sits down, his back against the oak tree, motioning for you to come sit on his lap with your back against his. You relax against his chest, laying your head down against his shoulder. He rubs your arms, pressing a kiss against your temple. “How are you feeling?”

You shrug. “Fine.”

“Y/N.”

“I don’t know… I don’t know yet,” you whisper, turning your head so that you can look Steve in the eye. “I’m just feeling a bit confused.”

“That’s alright. I’m here,” Steve says.

You lean more into his warmth, closing your eyes, letting the breeze play with your hair. Everything is so peaceful, so silent. You don’t want this moment to end. You want the whole world to stop spinning for a moment and just freeze, letting you enjoy being in Steve’s arms before it’s over.

You’re pretty sure Steve feels the same way. He hold you close, letting you go only when you hear Darcy and Jo. The scream Jo lets out when she sees you and the picknick blanket is deafening, but the beautiful deafening kind. She runs, throwing herself in your arms. Steve is knocked against the tree and you hear him let out a groan against your ear.

As Darcy sits down, digging through the basket for something she likes, and Jo settles in your lap, murmuring endless thank you’s, you find yourself wishing once again for this moment to never end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 Eternally grateful for all of your love!  
> Also R.I.P Steve's beard.


	25. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long chapter to make up for the wait! I was on a vacation where I actually did write, but the WiFi was terrible, so I couldn't post anything... :( Anyway, here's some fluff and some angst and a bit of Sam/Bucky!

You were a teenager, probably fifteen, maybe sixteen, when you realized you liked girls.

You don’t remember the exact day, but you know it happened somewhere around that age. You knew Natasha already then, your relationship with her strictly platonic. She was a bit older, always there to braid your hair and tell you how the world worked. It’s still a mystery to you, how she managed to know so many things about the outside world when like you, she didn’t get out either. It must have been her past before she came to the Stark palace, you think, the past she won’t talk about.

You never had a boyfriend. Your mother made sure of that. You would get to court a man when you were an appropriate age and until that time you were kept away from the opposite sex. She never thought about Natasha, and that was somehow funny to you. She never suspected anything when you had sleepovers with her. You never shared a bed with her, but that was because Natasha didn’t want it. She had nightmares. You didn’t understand it then, but you do now. But before you went to sleep, the two of you cuddled up on your bed. You kissed each other, chaste kisses, that made your lips tingle and something inside of you tighten. Nothing more happened, Natasha always made sure of that, but it was enough for you to realize that this is what being in love must feel like. Immediately, the realization came that it wasn’t normal. That you weren’t supposed to feel that kind of love for girls.

You didn’t say anything to your father, didn’t dare breath anything towards your mother in fear of her having a seizure. Tony must have noticed, the way the two of you held hands, almost stuck together. Eventually, your parents realized, when you were a bit older and you didn’t pay attention to any of the approved bachelors because you could only look at Natasha. Your feelings for her changed over the years, but the realization that you liked women stayed.

Who you are doesn’t change your love for Steve. It could never. You’ve made your peace with who you were a long time ago. You’re not damned for the ability to love the fairer sex. There are better things to worry about than stuff like that. Still, you know that some people would look at you differently if they found out that once there was a possibility that you would court Natasha Romanov.

All of that comes rushing back when Steve tells you about the situation he’s dealing right now. You’re having dinner with him and you’ve asked him about his day. You can tell he doesn’t really want to talk about it, but when you press him, he finally relents.

“Most of the time, when commoners have a problem,” Steve explains, “they figure it out themselves. But when things really get out of hand or when it’s about really sensitive matters, they come here, and they ask me for my judgment. Most of the time, it’s easy, because it’s about the way to divide land or conflict between two farmers because one of them thinks the other sabotaged something. But today…”

You reach over to grab his hand. “What happened?”

“Two couples came here, and they brought a girl, a bit younger than you. One of the couples were her parents, the other couple were her parents-in-law. They basically dragged her in. It… she looked so terrified and ashamed. Her parents-in-law came forward and they explained that their son had just married this girl after a short engagement. They told me that they found the girl naked in bed with a friend of hers and now they wanted her parent’s money. They said that they had accepted this girl into their house and their family because she was a pure neat girl and now, they knew that she had married their son after having been touched, by a woman. The girl’s parents should have informed them of their daughter’s ‘unnatural’ obsession.”

You swallow thickly. “What did you do?”

“I asked the girl a few questions. She said that she never wanted to marry her husband but that she had been pushed into marrying him because she didn’t want to be an old spinster and her parents couldn’t afford to feed her anymore. That she had fallen in love with her friend years ago and that she had wanted to marry her, but that her friend’s parents hadn’t allowed that. She cried, saying that she hadn’t wanted to hurt her husband, that he was a nice man, but that she just wasn’t capable of loving him,” Steve says, sighing loudly. “And that turned into another argument. I told them that perhaps the girl and the man should get divorced and that her parents-in-law had a right to be angry, because their daughter-in-law had cheated on their son, but that they weren’t entitled to any money. That was a relief for the girl’s parents because they probably would have had to sell their farm.”

“And the girl?”

“I offered her a job as a maid here,” Steve says, squeezing your hand. “She said that she appreciated it and would think about it, but that she would let me know her decision.”

“That was very kind of you.”

Steve looks up at you, a weak smile on his face. You can tell he’s tired, the kind of tired where you’re just forcing yourself to keep your eyes open and not fall asleep on top of your plate. A rush of affection hits you and suddenly all you want to do is grab this man, force him to change into more comfortable clothes and then push him into bed. You’ll stroke his hair and hum for him until he falls asleep. You just want to make him feel better.

“I just hope she’s safe tonight,” Steve murmurs.

“You did what you could. You’ve done more than any king would have done,” you say, standing up and walking over to him. You cup his cheeks, feeling the smooth skin against your fingers. “I’m sure she is very grateful that you didn’t make her parents pay and even offered her a job.”

“I know, but…”

“No buts,” you tell him. You open your mouth, to tell him that he needs to get out of his head and maybe take a bath before tucking in early, but then you feel something queasy in your belly. Immediately you swallow thickly, knowing that you’ve got less than a minute before you’ll throw up. The thought of throwing up only worsens the nausea and you press your hand to your mouth, running past Steve to the bathroom that you reach just on time.

When you’re done, you feel Steve’s hand on your back. “Was that…”

“Pepper was right,” you say, sitting down on the cold floor, wiping your mouth. “It’s not morning sickness, just all the time sickness.”

It’s been a few weeks since Darcy found out Jo’s from Asgard, and in those weeks you’ve still thrown up every day. Your appetite has grown, and your lower belly is even firmer. You can’t call it a pregnancy belly yet, but it’s getting there. It’s easy to hide underneath your dresses, so only Steve and you have seen it. Every night, he presses a kiss there, murmuring something so soft that you don’t know what he’s saying exactly, but you get the gist of it.

“Tomorrow I’m taking you to the healer,” Steve says. “I don’t want to hear any protests, Y/N. It’s time.”

You pout at him and he chuckles. You can’t quite explain to him why you don’t want to go to the healer. Maybe it’s the possibility that you’re not pregnant, that you’ll see the happiness in Steve’s eyes disappear when the man tells you that you’re not having a baby. Or maybe it’s the possibility that you _are_ pregnant and then suddenly it’ll be so real, and you’ll have to do so many things. You’ll have to tell Tony and Pepper and you’ll have to set up a nursery. You’ll have to go searching for suitable governesses and nanny’s because you can never start looking too soon. And names, clothing, everything!

You’ll be a mother, with all the responsibilities that come with that title.

Steve helps you up, but not before pressing a kiss on your forehead. “Come here, honey.”

You really, really want to bury your face in his chest and just breathe him in, but suddenly you feel way too overwhelmed. You don’t want anybody touching you. You just need some fresh air and silence. You pull away from Steve, gently. “I need some ginger tea.”

“I can get it for-”

“No, I’ll do it,” you say. “You get ready for bed. You look like you’re about to fall asleep standing up.”

He smiles at you softly. “If that’s what you want, sweetheart.”

* * *

It’s a hot night and save from the few guards patrolling there’s nobody walking through the corridors. Far away you can hear people laughing and talking, but you have no idea who they are or where they are. Probably a bunch of maids talking, or maybe a few soldiers joking around. There’s no way to tell. You’re just happy that whoever they are, they’re having a good time.

You put your hand on your lower belly. Maybe there’s a life inside there, maybe not. Tomorrow you’ll know.

You lower your pace, wandering through the castle. You’ll make your way to the kitchens eventually to get your cup of tea. Right now, you just need to breathe. And think.

What if you’ll make a terrible mother? What if you do everything wrong? What if you’ll get your sadness again, your episodes, your moods? What if the birth goes wrong and the baby dies? Or you? What if you drop the baby or accidentally let him or her choke? Or what if you don’t notice that the baby is sick? What if it’s a girl and everybody in the country rebels because they don’t want a girl inheriting the throne? What if you and Steve get killed and leave a tiny child behind, all helpless and traumatized? What if Steve stops loving you?

There are so many things that could go wrong. You can almost hear Pepper’s voice, telling you that everything could go right too, so why not just see how everything goes instead of worrying. You know she’s right, but that doesn’t take away the ever-present anxiety.

You stop walking when you hear someone laughing. It sounds like it’s coming from a room on your right, the door slightly ajar. It’s a familiar laugh and when a male’s voice says: “Yeah, keep laughing, Barnes.” you recognize the laughter as Bucky’s and the voice as Sam’s. You linger for a moment and when it stays silent you decide that you’ll just walk on. You don’t want to intrude on what seems like a private moment between the two of them. You’ll just fight your curiosity.

“It really isn’t that funny,” Sam says, annoyed now, but there’s still a certain softness that normally isn’t there when he’s talking to Bucky. “Buck…”

“I know, I know, sorry.”

It’s silent for a few more moments and then Sam speaks up again.

“When are you going to tell him?”

“Sam…”

“I just want it over and done with. I bet that he already knows, it’s not like you’re a good liar,” Sam murmurs. “It’s Steve, Buck. He won’t kick us out.”

“I don’t want him to see me differently. It’s complicated, we’ve been friends for so long…”

“He won’t look at you differently. He’s basically your brother, love.”

“How could he not look at me differently? He doesn’t… he won’t understand. He doesn’t have these feelings, he’s married to a woman, perfectly normal. He’ll want to know why I haven’t told him before, he could get in trouble. It’s still taboo, Sam. He can’t have his bodyguard… being…”

“In a relationship with a man?”

“Sam...”

“Seriously, Barnes, you’re giving the man way too little credit. He stuck up for this girl today, I was there. And for god’s sake, he’s married to a woman who…”

“Who what?”

You swallow thickly, leaning against the wall.

“Well, there’s always been rumors about Y/N and Romanov. There’s a reason why she didn’t show up at the wedding.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“I listen and pay attention, moron. I’m not the one who’s wandering around, daydreaming about god knows what.”

“Stop harassing me, man!”

You hear Sam laugh, a warm laugh. Bucky joins him and then you hear a soft smacking sound, and you realize they’re kissing.

Blood rushes to your cheeks as a feeling of shame overtakes you. You’ve been listening for far too long to something that wasn’t for you to hear. You need to get to the kitchens and get back before Steve starts worrying about you.

As silently as you can you walk past the door, looking over your shoulder for a brief moment to see Sam and Bucky in a passionate embrace. You keep walking quickly. When you walk past the corner, you let out a sigh of relief.

* * *

After drinking a cup of tea in the kitchens with Anne, you walk back to the bedroom. The curtains are closed, and you hear soft snoring coming from the bed. The lump underneath the blankets suspiciously looks like Steve.

You get changed in the closet, careful not to make too much noise. You wash your face, combing your hair, looking at yourself in the mirror. Your face is fuller too, but other than that there are no changes. Maybe later. If you’re pregnant, that is.

You close the bathroom door behind you, stumbling towards the bed. You climb on it, curling up next to Steve under the blankets. You toss and turn a bit, trying to find a comfortable position to fall asleep in. Eventually, you settle on cuddling against Steve’s chest, tangling your leg between his. It wakes him up a little bit and you hear him yawn again, muttering something.

“I… I need to,” he says and when you feel him softly place a hand on your tummy, you know what he wants to do.

You shake your head, inching a bit closer to him so you can press a quick kiss on his lips. “It’s all right,” you tell him. “We know. Go to sleep, love.”

You don’t have to tell him twice.

* * *

Jonathan’s examination is a gentle one and he explains every step along the way. Steve stays beside you, holding your hand. It’s more for his sake than yours because he’s the person who’s the tensest in the room. When Jonathan’s cold hands press on your lower belly and you flinch, you had to squeeze Steve’s hand very tightly to keep him from doing something he’d regret. He’s incredibly protective and it’s a bit unsettling to see Steve, a man you’ve only known to be kind and gentle, suddenly act so aggressive when he thinks someone’s doing something you don’t like. You’re seeing more and more of the soldier who’s been lurking in the shadows.

Jonathan finally finishes his examination and walks away to wash his hands again. You notice Martha and Polly in the door opening, wearing their neat dresses, their hair tied back. You get that this is interesting you’re an important patient and the possibility of you being pregnant with the heir is exciting. You wonder how the last few months have been for them, how their training is going. If they’re still happy that they’re going to be healers.

“Well, I’m happy to see you again, your Majesty,” Jonathan says. “I _was_ wondering when I would get summoned for an appointment like this.”

The blood rushes to your cheeks and Steve squeezes your hand, once again.  
“Y/N is healthy, right?” Steve asks, the strain in his voice is evident.

“Your wife is perfectly healthy, Mr. Rogers. From what she told me and my examination… I can say with a lot of certainty that she is indeed pregnant. Congratulations!”

You let out a strangled gasp. “Are you sure?”

Jonathan nods. “I’d say you’re somewhere between three and four months along.”

Your wedding was three and a half months ago. That night, that night filled with nerves and pleasure and shock and excitement and love. Was that the night that this baby was created, a baby whose parents were only getting to know each other so intimately for the first time?

Blood rushes to your cheeks again at the memory. Jonathan understands what’s going on and you hear him lightly chuckle before walking over to shoo the two lingering women away.

You get off the bed, still holding Steve’s hand. You look at him, a feeling akin to fear building up inside of you. He hasn’t said anything. He hasn’t kissed you or told you how happy he is. He’s being silent, and that can be a bad thing, right?

“Steve?” you ask, your voice a bit shaky. “Steve, this is good, isn’t it?”

Steve turns to you. His eyes are a bit shiny. “Yeah, sweetheart. This is a very good thing.”

Before you know it, he has his arms around you and he’s lifting you up a little bit so he can kiss you gently. When he pulls away to catch his breath, you throw your arms around his neck and bury your face in his chest.

When you hear him sniffle, you frown.

“Steve?”

“Yes?”

“Are you crying?”

Silence.

“Maybe.”

The way he says that makes you burst into laughter. You shake against him, wiping away some tears that escape from how hard you laugh. He presses a few kisses on your forehead, trying to calm you down, but you’re hysterical. It’s probably just all of your pent up nerves and the knowledge that you really are going to be a mother.

Whatever it is, it sure makes you look like an idiot when Jonathan comes back to give you some advice for during the pregnancy.

* * *

When the day comes, you’re still not ready.

You’ve been trying to prepare yourself for the inevitable ever since the letter came. That morning, when Steve came and told you that King Thor himself had sent someone with the joyful news that living relatives of Jo had been found, you cried. You had blamed it on the moods of a pregnant woman when Steve had kneeled next to you, so worried. You know he likes Jo, but he could never get this. The affection, the understanding between the two of you. The trust, the shared experience of having HYDRA forever change you.

You try to be happy for her. Apparently, she’s still got a great uncle and aunt living somewhere in the mountains who were overjoyed when they found out their dear Jo was still alive. Focusing on the fact that she’ll be going home to family, a happy family that will provide her with all that she needs, helps. A bit. It doesn’t change the fact that you’ll probably never see her again and that she’ll forget all about you in a few years, but in the end, it should be about what’s best for Jo.

What only worsens the fact that she’ll be leaving, is knowing that Darcy’s going with her. Darcy never stayed the whole year at the American palace, you knew that, but you had forgotten about it until now. Darcy explained it all to you, she’ll travel with Jo to deliver her to the house of her great uncle and aunt and then Darcy will go back to the palace in Asgard where she’ll stay with her Lady Foster.

The thought that Jo, your almost daughter and Darcy, your closest friend at the American palace, will leave soon is enough to make you feel physically sick.

When the day comes, you don’t want to get out of bed. Steve wakes you up, with tea and a lot of kisses. He understands that this is hard for you and in typical Steve style, he doesn’t leave you alone, even when you need to go to the bathroom.

He tries to distract you. “Did you know Bucky’s sister is coming?” he asks when you’re washing your face.

“He has a sister?”

“Yes. Rebecca, or rather, Becca. She grew up here too, but she always kept away from me and Buck. She had her own friends and was always wanting to leave. So, she did, a few years ago. She’s coming for a visit with Buck’s mother.”

“I would love to meet them both,” you say, knowing that that’s the polite thing to say. “What is his mother like?”

“Winifred is lovely. She always looked after me like I was her own. When my parents died… she was there for me. So incredibly welcoming and always there to give you a stern talking to when you’ve done something stupid. I got those talking to’s a lot.”

You chuckle. “When will they arrive?”

“A week or so. Bucky’s really excited.”

“I can imagine,” you say gently, wondering when Bucky will finally tell Steve about his relationship with Sam. You could never tell Steve in his place, it’s Bucky’s news to share, but you wish you could just let Bucky know that Steve would accept it without letting on that you listened in on them. You know that you should just not interfere with this at all, but that’s hard.

You wonder if his mother and sister know. Or if they suspect it.

When you’re ready, Steve offers you his arm. You gladly take it. You need all the support you can get because you really don’t want to burst into tears in front of Darcy and Jo. That’ll be hard because you still have your news to share with Darcy. You know she probably already knows, being the palace’s biggest gossip and all, but you just need to tell her. You need her to be the first person that you say: “I’m pregnant!” to. She deserves it.

The carriage is already being filled with suitcases when you arrive. Jo’s maid, Danielle, is there and she smiles shyly when she sees you. Darcy’s standing to the side, playfully commanding the other servants. Jo is standing next to Darcy, holding her hand, looking around her.

“That’s a lot of suitcases,” Steve stays, frowning. “Is Darcy bringing the whole palace with her to Asgard?”

“Most of it is for Jo, your Majesty,” Danielle says softly, not looking up from the ground. “Darcy got a lot of old children clothing from everybody. She heard that while Jo’s relatives are happy to have her, they’re not very rich, so she thought that this would help them a bit.”

You smile, watching Darcy pick up Jo and put her on her small hip. “That’s… that’s wonderful.”

Danielle chuckles softly. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

When Jo notices you, she runs to you, throwing her arms around your waist. You let Steve go, crouching down to her level and cupping her cheeks. “Hey, love.”

“Why won’t you come with us?”

“This is my home, remember?”

Steve pats her head affectionately. “And, if Y/N would go with you, I would miss her so much that I would cry all day long and then I wouldn’t be a good King, would I?”

Jo shakes her head, all serious. You smile at Steve and he flashes one of those grins that make you melt on the inside.

“I’ll miss you,” Jo says then and you know she means it. You grab her hand, pressing a kiss to the warm skin, fighting against your tears.

“I’ll miss you too.”

“I was going to be happy…” Jo admits. “When I get to go home.”

“But you’re not?”

“I’m sad.”

You gather her in your arms, rubbing her back, breathing in her smell. Telling her that soon she’ll be back in the country that is her home, with people she loves. That Darcy will be with her and that you’ll think of her. That she can look at the stars and that she can sing songs and get to do all sorts of fun stuff.

“I promise you that it’s going to be amazing,” you say, your voice breaking. You feel Steve’s hand on your shoulder, squeezing.

When Jo pulls away, you feel an emptiness inside of you. But then she reaches towards her precious satchel and she digs in it until she’s found what she’s looking for you.

“Close your eyes,” she instructs, and you obey her.

“Hands!” You extend your hands. That’s when you feel something soft in your right hand.

“You can open your eyes,” Jo says.

It’s a four-leaved clover. All dried up, but that doesn’t matter.

“For luck,” Jo whispers in your ear when she leans forward and splutters something unintelligible. Danielle is there to give Jo a hug and bring her to the carriage, leaving you behind with a four-leaved clover and a pain that’s indescribable.

Steve’s there to pick up the pieces; he wraps his arms around you, telling you that Jo’s going to be fine, just like you. You furiously wipe away the tear, not wanting to make things worse for her. Then you feel a slender hand on your shoulder and Darcy’s high voice: “Want a handkerchief, sleeping beauty?”

You shake your head, turning towards her. “I’ll manage, thank you.”

“This ain’t goodbye,” Darcy says, her hands on her hips. “Goodbye means we’ll never see each other again and that’s not true. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Just make sure you drop by before it’s been… let’s say six months,” you say, wiping away the last tear. You feel Steve’s arm around your waist, keeping you upright as Darcy takes a few moments to process what you just told her.

“You’re…”

“I’m pregnant, yes,” you say and then her arms are around your neck. She’s laughing while she’s trying to say something. You’re a bit squished between her and Steve, but that doesn’t matter right now.

When Darcy pulls away, she pats Steve’s shoulder while she grins. “Well done, good sir! You really didn’t waste any time… you just put it in there!”

“I think I should leave you two ladies alone to say goodbye,” Steve says and before you can say anything, he’s left you to go to the carriage and say a few last words to Jo.

“I suspected that you were pregnant, but it’s good to hear it from you. Officially. Congratulations,” Darcy says, serious now. “You’ll make a lovely mother and Steve a lovely father.”

“Thank you.”

“And I’m counting on me being the baby’s wild auntie. The one who goes on crazy adventures and has a lot of wisdom,” Darcy tells you. “Write to me. I’m sure I’ll see so many crazy things in Asgard, their court is _insane,_ and I can’t wait to hear how everything goes back here. And I’ll be back before your baby is born. Can’t have you decorating a nursery without my keen eye!”

“I’ll write,” you promise, pulling her into another hug. Darcy tries to pull away, but you don’t let her go, not wanting her to step inside that carriage and leave you here without a friend who can always tell you about what’s going on inside the palace.

“Damn, those hormones are already making you all mushy,” Darcy jokes before you finally let her go.

“Look after Jo,” you instruct her. “Make sure-”

“I know. Don’t worry about her, she’s going to be just fine. Focus on yourself and that baby. And that damn fine husband of yours. He really loves you,” Darcy says.

You blush, looking at Steve who’s talking to Danielle. The girl looks like she’s about to have a mental breakdown. She’s probably never had a conversation with her King. He notices your staring, winking at you before turning back to Danielle.

“I mean it,” Darcy continues. “I mean, he fired the maid he had his entire life just because she said something about you. And everybody knows he hates firing people. The man is just too kind. But for you, he’d tear the world apart. Literally, he would burn everything down to keep you safe. That’s romance.”

“I don’t know,” you whisper. You know that Steve loves you. You haven’t told him you that you love him yet. There hasn’t been a right moment yet. When it comes, you’ll know. You hope that Steve gets it. That he doesn’t think that you secretly despise him or something like that. Because you really like him. In a way that you’ve never liked anybody else before.

The thought that Steve would go to hell for you is a terrifying thought. You’ve never been loved so fiercely or been known so intimately by someone who wasn’t raised with you, like Tony or Natasha.

“Keep fighting, sleeping beauty,” Darcy whispers. “It’ll all make sense soon enough.”

And with that, she leaves. She climbs into the carriage, helped by Steve. She says a few things to him so soft that nobody else hears. Jo waves through the little window and you hold up the four-leaved clover. Danielle blows a few kisses. Before the carriage door closes, Darcy pokes out her head and waves at you.

“God bless America!”

The door closes.

Steve walks back to you, wrapping an arm around you as the carriage with Darcy and Jo in it starts riding, leaving through the gate. The carriage with their belongings follow. You wait until neither of the carriages is visible anymore. You turn in Steve’s arms, pressing a kiss against his bare cheek, enjoying the feel of his stubble. There are no tears anymore.

“What did Darcy say to you?” you ask.

“To be patient and loving. And that if I did you wrong, she would come back to kick my ass all the way to Sokovia.”

You laugh at that. “You could never do me wrong.”

“And I have no desire to be anything than patient and loving with you,” Steve tells you, putting his finger between your chin to hold you still for a long kiss. “Everything okay now?”

You nod at him. “Yes.”

* * *

Later, looking back, you know that you spoke the truth. When you looked at him like he hung the moon and told him that everything was okay, you meant it. Because you had no idea of what was coming. How everything would change. The danger you would find yourself in. And the loss that would hurt so much. You didn’t see the looming threat, the shadow coming closer.

Then, you were blissfully ignorant. Only focusing on Steve and thinking of the right wording to write home about the good news.

* * *

At night, sleep doesn’t come easy. Your mind is filled with thoughts about Jo and Darcy, who will soon spend the night in an inn because it will be too dark for them to travel. There’s the thoughts about Tony and Pepper, who will probably explode when they hear that they will soon be aunt and uncle. About Lilith and love. There’s a moment where Peggy Carter suddenly pops up. And then you think of Steve, who’s lying next to you. You know he’s not asleep, you can tell that from his breathing.

He shifts next to you, inching closer. You don’t say anything, listening to his intake of breath when he presses a kiss against your shoulder. He presses another kiss against your throat and then a kiss against your earlobe.

“Do you want this, sweetheart?” Steve whispers. You shush him.

This isn’t a night for talking, for thinking.

It’s a night for feeling.

You become alive in his hands, a person that you don’t quite understand but like. She’s exciting and beautiful and Steve likes her a lot. You touch and taste, moving with your hands, wanting to be so close with him until he is everywhere. He likes that, when you take charge, when you push and pull, when you get on top and use the experience you’ve gathered these few months to make it feel good.

You breathe, harshly. Just like him. You palm his naked chest, reach up towards his face. There’s no beard. You lean down, peppering kisses all over his face, wanting to let him know you love him even if you can’t say it yet. You want him to understand. He groans against your mouth, urging you on. Your hands tremble when you reach him where he’s aching.

This is where you get him to know him in the intimate way that you’ve never known anyone else. Even your kisses, your hugs, your touches with Natasha were never like this. The way you know Steve is so different and this knowledge is something that you will carry with you until you die. Perhaps the knowledge will change over the years, when both of you will mature and morph into different people, but that doesn’t matter if this connection stays, this intimate knowing.

You listen to his soft gasps, the way his chest heaves. You move and rock, seeking out his lips because you need the soft touch of them to cancel out the roughness. He needs it too. The way he arches up to lick the corner of your mouth is enough evidence. You keep moving, taking his hands into yours. There’s darkness surrounding you, but you’ve never seen more clearly.

Far away, you can hear something. You can’t quite tell what it is, but it doesn’t matter, because you’re focused on the man that you’re straddling, not whatever the hell that is. Steve does and then you feel that you’ve lost your grip on his wrists. His hands are on your hipbones, stilling you, whispering to you that he must go. In a daze you manage to lift off him, hiding underneath the covers, hypersensitive, as he tries to make himself decent before opening the bedroom door.

It’s Bucky. For a moment your muddled brain thinks that he’s here to talk about his relationship with Sam, but then reason kicks in. It’s the middle of the night and there’s a wildness in Bucky’s voice that you don’t understand. Besides, he’s not alone. There’s a man with him who you finally realize is Phil Coulson.

Phil sees you, smiling at you, before realizing your state of undress and then he starts studying the ground with a lot of interest. Steve tries to shield you with his body, you can tell, but it’s clear that everybody knows what was going on. You rub in your eyes, deciding that you won’t be ashamed. You’re a married woman, after all.

Finally, Bucky and Phil leave. Steve shuts the door, bringing back the darkness. Steve lights a candle before going back to bed. You put your hands against him, trying to get him back where you want him to be, but he gently stops you.

“Sweetheart… listen to me,” he says, soft and serious. “This is big news and I think you should know. We’ve got what we wanted. Finally, someone talked, and we’ve got the big HYDRA base we’ve been looking for since the beginning. We have a location. This is it. This is our chance to destroy HYDRA.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	26. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, if you thought last chapter had a terrible cliffhanger, you'll die next chapter! Just warning y'all! 
> 
> Now, a chapter where we pick up on the Natasha storyline, and the reader deals with the reality that her husband will go to war, with the possibility that he might never come back. (Also, there's a lovely Sam scene!)  
> I look forward to hearing from you guys in the comments, I'm really interested in what your thoughts are about this chapter!

_My dear Y/N,_

_I have to start this letter with an apology. You didn’t write a letter back after my last letter and I have the feeling I know why. That last one was hardly a letter which is a bit unforgivable after you put so much of your emotions into yours._

_So, here I go. I’m sorry. I’ll explain to you in a moment why I’ve neglected you, hoping that it will make you understand. The last thing I want for you is to be mad at me. Or be sad. You know I’ve always hated seeing you cry. There’s nothing pretty about the way you cry, Y/N, and I don’t know what’s worse, watching you cry because someone else hurt you or watching you cry because I hurt you._

_I hope you’re doing all right. I shouldn’t worry about you, you’re more than capable of handling yourself and I know Steve’s looking after you. I have to be honest; I don’t think I’ll come for a visit soon. It’s been incredibly busy, and I don’t know if it would be right for me to come. You know me, I don’t like going where I’m not invited. Maybe it’s for the best if we just wait some more._

_Life is busy. I’ve gotten a promotion from your brother, who’s practically glowing at the idea that he’ll have a son or a daughter running around soon. You should see him with Pepper, he’s so doting, but still the jerk we know he is. Anyways, my promotion is that I’m an instructor now. I’m training women and, on the side, I’m training the actual soldiers. It’s tiring and every day my body feels like it’s about to fall apart, but I’m trying to see it from the positive side and that is that my muscles have never looked better. It’s been even more hectic here now that Pepper’s mother is staying for a few days. Apparently, she is in some kind of trouble and Tony is going to let her stay in one of the houses that he owns throughout the country. She’s only been here like two days and already she’s kicking up such a fuss. I’ve tried to calm her down, but she doesn’t like me. I don’t think she likes anyone._

_I think it’s time for me to tell you why I didn’t write. I’m a bit nervous, can you imagine? I’ve been putting it off, but it’s time. Around the time that you wrote to me, I had just met someone. Her name is Carol, Carol Danvers. She’s a new recruit for the army, one of our first women, and she’s quite the lady. Stubborn as hell and incredibly charming. The moment I met her I realized there was a spark. It sounds like those fairytale stories we laughed about, but it’s true. There was a connection. I was confused and angry at myself for getting so confused. I had no patience for myself and I was a bit resentful towards you. For marrying Steve. A part of me always thought that we would eventually end up marrying. I know that your feelings for me changed but I just thought that in the end you would rather get settled with me than with some old man. I was never counting on Steve or you actually marrying a stranger. You promised me you would never do that, that you would only marry for love. That you would never be forced into a marriage you didn’t want._

_I’ve been talking to Carol a lot. I’ve taken her under my wing and she’s proving to be a good student. She’s fit and knows a lot of moves. She likes women too. With her, I feel something that I haven’t felt in a very long time and that’s… unexpected, to say the least. I hope you understand. I think she and I could become something. It’s all new and that’s thrilling. I’m getting to know her and she’s getting to know me. It’s a bit terrifying, but you know I’m no coward and when have I ever backed away from a challenge?_

_I think it’s time to accept that we’re adults now and no longer inseparable children. I’m mostly to blame for that, but oh well. I hope you’ll forgive me for being a mess, for not being there for you at the wedding. Tony said you could have used the support._

_I never told you about my childhood, Y/N, and I don’t think I ever will. It’s not really a thing that I can talk about. It’s better to keep it a mystery. But I want to tell you about one memory because it’s a memory that’s half my childhood half your world. It’s a memory of when I was tiny and broken. There was a man who said his name was Fury, like furious. He promised me he would bring me to a man that would keep me safe, that I would never have to talk about what happened to me. I remember sitting in a carriage, thinking hateful things about myself because that’s all I had ever known. And then I remember getting to the Stark castle where I saw your father and you. You were a young girl, hiding behind his legs. There were grown-ups all around and sounds. I didn’t feel safe, not for a moment. But then you looked at me and you smiled. The moment you smiled at me I realized that it was a safe home that Fury had brought me to because there was a smiling child._

_I don’t tell you this to pity you, but to explain to you how important you’ve been to me since the beginning. You’ve shown me kindness and safety and what it means to love. I have never loved anyone before you and I don’t think I will ever love anybody as I’ve loved you, but that’s all right. My love for you is a unique kind, something that will linger, like a nice perfume. It’s poetic, but it’s true. I thought it was sad, that we would never get together, but now I know even better what love is. It stays, even when you’re sad and you’re not with the other person. Because love isn’t about you and you being with that person, it’s about them being them._

_I have no idea if that makes sense. I’m writing this in the company of a delicious bottle of wine. I’m just trying to put my thoughts on to paper, trying to find you tonight. I wish you were here, so I could tell you face to face. Also, because I really want to know what you think of my hair._

_It’s all right if your love for me was different. It’s all right if you need time... if you think I’m being dramatic. It’s alright if things between us have changed into something… I don’t know. I just hope we’ll get together once again, just to talk about our crazy lives. Writing letters really don’t compare with talking in real life._

_I’m going to bed now. I’ll finish my glass of wine. I hope you’re okay. Please send a letter back. Even if it is a short one. That would be fair. But please don’t._

_Love,_

_Tasha_

* * *

Wanda looks every inch the warrior that she is when you enter Steve’s study. She’s sitting behind his desk, her hair braided to her skull, not a single fly away in sight. Her eyes are already lined in kohl and when she looks up you can see those almond-shaped eyes have a grim look in them.

“Where is Steve?” you ask her.

“In a meeting,” she answers, rummaging through her papers. “I needed a quiet place to work. Our strategy must be impeccable. It’ll be hard, with so many soldiers from different armies.”

“Who’s coming?”

You walk over to the empty chair, sitting down. Your back aches and so do your feet. If you were honest, you came over here to ask Steve to take a break to massage your feet. The last time he did it you were blown away by how skilled he was at taking away your aches.

“Everybody. Us, Sokovia, Wakanda, Asgard. And of course, some of the minor countries who are sending a few troops each. Still no news from Quill and your brother.”

“Tony will join us. There’s no doubt. We’re allies and he would never pass up an opportunity to get revenge.”

“Still, I can’t count him in until I get his confirmation with his signature,” Wanda sighs. “And honestly, Quill is a wild card. Their country took quite the hit a few months ago and he’s not known for his loyalty. I’m betting that he sends a ‘thank you for the invite but no thanks’ letter back.”

“Prick,” you whisper. “We need all the help we can get.”

“We’re taking nearly all our troops with us. Sokovia, Wakanda, and Asgard too. Your brother, if he joins, will surely send a lot. We can do it,” Wanda says. “The challenge lies in making sure this operation goes as smoothly as possible. We can’t afford HYDRA knowing that we are coming.”

“Surely they have spies who will notice something is up,” you say.

“Which is why we can’t afford to lose a lot of time. We need to strike, and we need to do it fast. Otherwise, when we’ll come there it’ll be abandoned. I hope your brother hurries.”

You nod. “I received a letter from a friend yesterday, but it was an old one.”

“I have half the heart to take a horse and make the trip myself,” Wanda says, standing up from her chair and walking over to the window. She looks tired, you can tell from the way she hunches. “It feels like we’re finally getting somewhere. Years and years, we have chased a ghost. I’m no stranger to the pain HYDRA inflicts. My brother, he was killed by a HYDRA soldier. I didn’t even get to bury him. They took his body and my chance to say goodbye. Now, now we’re getting close. We can’t completely obliterate them, but we can weaken them to the point where they won’t able to bring so much damage to people. We can watch them die, slowly, but surely. If this is ruined…”

The door of the study opens, and Steve enters. Wanda straightens, not a trace of emotion is visible on her face. Steve is hurried, you can see that. He squeezes your arm and presses a haste kiss on your temple.

“Your Majesty, it’s good to see you,” a man says, and only then do you notice him. He entered alongside Steve, an older man who must have been handsome when he was young. You’ve heard his voice before and you’ve seen his face around here, but you can’t connect a name to him.

“Lord Pierce, if you could drop by later this afternoon, I would appreciate it. I have some things to discuss,” Wanda says.

“Of course, general Maximoff,” Pierce answers. Wanda nods at you before picking up the pile of papers, shoving them under her arm and leaving. Steve is rummaging through his desk, his hand on your lower back, absentmindedly rubbing circles.

“It’s good to see you too, lord Pierce,” you say, finding your voice. You smile at him. “It is exciting news, isn’t it?”

“Very exciting. We’ve never been closer to snuffing HYDRA out,” Pierce says. 

Steve turns to you, having found what he needed. “Everything all right, sweetheart?”

“Yes, just wanted to see you.”

Steve spins you around so he has both of his arms around your waist, holding you close. He gives you a chaste kiss, cupping your cheek. “I don’t think I’m able to make dinner tonight. It’s a madhouse around here.”

“I know. It’s fine,” you promise him. “Don’t overwork yourself.”

“Ah, the love of newlyweds,” Pierce comments and you stiffen in Steve’s arms. “I remember me and my wife being just like the two of you. Cherish that time.”

Steve chuckles. “We will. I’ll see you later, love.” And with that, he leaves you.

* * *

When Tony had brought Pepper home, you had been pleasantly surprised. You had been used to the way your brother lived: reckless and not too attached to the ladies he kept around. So when he brought in a skinny and elegant reddish-blonde who seemed quite taken by him, you had suspected that she was just one of the latest in a row of ladies that he had his fun with until the lady in question realized that fun was the only thing she would be getting.

Pepper was different, that was what you realized the moment she started talking. She was well educated and didn’t take any of Tony’s bullshit. Your mouth fell open when she told Tony off about something you can’t quite remember, and your shock multiplied when Tony actually obeyed her.

“I think she’s the one,” Tony had told you later, his voice different. He was older now, a bit more mature. He had never been this way with any of the other women. 

“I think so too,” you had said to him.

Your mother was immediately taken by Pepper. Maria Stark couldn’t stop gushing about how well brought up the young lady was and how beautiful she was. Your father had been a little bit more cautious, but Pepper had managed to win him over in record time. Perhaps that was one of the only things that Tony and his father could agree about. That Pepper was a good woman.

Pepper was like the sister you never had. Unlike your relationship with Natasha, which had always been clouded because of the possibility of a romance, your relationship with Pepper was strictly platonic. She complained about Tony to you and listened to your troubles. She taught you how to politely decline a dance and how to use a bit of kohl to make your eyes look prettier. And when you were in a pinch because you hadn’t read the book your governess had told you to, you could always knock on her door to ask her for a summary.

Tony came to you when he wanted to ask her to marry him. You wrote out a speech for him so he could ask Pepper’s father for her hand. You gave him some pointers about the nice things to tell her and how the ring should look like. You stood up for Tony when your father complained that it was a bit early for Tony to get married. You congratulated Pepper when the ring was on her finger, hugged your brother. Whispered in his ear that you had been right, that she was the one. 

You had been there for them from the beginning. They had been there for you too, in their own unique ways. Perhaps that is what had bothered Tony about Steve. No man liked to see his sister married, but Tony would have been more accepting if he had seen your relationship with Steve develop, if he had been given a chance to have a longer conversation with Steve.

Now, you have to write a letter. You want to write a short one to Tony with the news, a letter that Steve will be able to give him when he sees him. According to Steve, they’ll set up a meeting point, so there’s no chance for you to see Tony and tell him in person. Later, after the mission, you’ll send long letters to Pepper and Natasha with all the details. For now, something short and sweet will suffice.

The problem? You just can’t find the words.

You play with your daisy necklace as you think. 

 _Dear Tony, I’m pregnant!_ No. That can’t do. _Tony, you can probably guess what the news is… you’re going to be an uncle!_ Better, but still not perfect. _Hey brother, be careful because you’ve still got to meet the baby that I’m currently carrying_. That’s just weird.

If only Darcy were here, she could snap you out of whatever it is that you’re in and just tell you what to write. You stare at the blank paper and your ink. You just have to start, you decide. The words will come. In the end, it’s the good news that matters, not the way you word it.

And so, you begin.

_Dear Tony,_

_I wish I could have told you this face to face, but we can’t have everything that we want. I’ve got good news to share with you. I’m pregnant and very happy. I hope you are too. Please don’t beat up Steve. He’s going to be the father of your niece or nephew. A bit of respect, if you will.  
_

_Be careful. This mission is a dangerous one and I don’t want to lose you. Please, look out for Steve. He’s just as reckless as you are._

_I hope I’ll see you soon.  
_

_Love,_

_your sister Y/N_

Just as you’re waiting for the ink to dry, a maid comes by with a message from Wanda Maximoff. “We’ve just received word from your brother. He’s joining us and taking all of his troops with him. You were right about him. And Quill… well, I was right about that one.”

* * *

At night, you curl up against Steve until there’s no space left between the two of you. In the morning, you watch him garden, taking in every inch of him, trying to memorize the way he breathes, sighs, moves his arms. 

You can’t shake the feeling that something incredibly bad is going to happen. 

* * *

There isn’t anything to do and your bored out of your mind. 

You go on long walks, accompanied by Clint. You confide in him, telling him about your fears. He reassures you, promising you that it will be alright, that it’s probably just the hormones playing up. He tells you about how his wife Laura was worried that he had died every time he left the house for more than a few hours during her pregnancies. When he returned, he would find her sobbing, uncontrollably. She couldn’t explain it, but every time he went, the feeling that she had lost her husband was so real, so overwhelming, that she couldn’t think straight. 

A lot of your time is spent in the kitchen with Anne. She must know that you’re lonely, now that Darcy and Jo are gone, and Steve is so incredibly busy. She humors you, letting you do little tasks. She teaches you a few songs and you sing with her while you chop carrots or knead the dough. There’s a hint of affection in the way she teaches you how to make pies or walks you through the way to make pea soup. You wonder if she has children. Something about how she pats your head or looks at you when she thinks you’re not looking makes you suspect that she has.

You try to read, making use of the collection of novels in the library, but you can’t focus. Every time that you turn a page you’ve forgotten what just happened. Frustration makes you slam the book against the wall before quickly picking it up to make sure you didn’t damage it. When you do notice a little dent or tear you have to keep yourself from crying. 

You’re frustrated because it’s evident that your anxiety is coming back. Just as you thought it was gone, that you had won. Another failure. You wish you could talk to Steve about it, but whenever you get a chance to see him, he’s tired to the bone. You can tell he just wants a moment of peace, a kiss, a caress, a funny story to distract him. He’s scared too, the day that he leaves for the meeting point coming closer and closer. Bucky told you that he’s always worried and pent up before a battle, but this time it’s different. Maybe because he’s got much more to lose. So, you force yourself to smile, not wanting to make it worse for him by telling him about your troubles. It’s hard, but it’s a sacrifice to make him happy. That makes it easier. 

A letter arrives, from Darcy. Jo’s home, safe and sound. She was a bit shy, but according to Darcy, her relatives welcomed her with open arms. Darcy stayed for the celebratory meal and made sure everything was alright before leaving for the Asgardian palace. You smile as she talks about how Thor has gotten even hotter and that Lady Foster is already dragging her along for another experiment. You miss her loud voice, her confidence. You’ve always been jealous about the way she never seemed to doubt herself or her opinions. If only you could be like that.

_Keep fighting, sleeping beauty, it’ll all make sense soon enough._

You think of her, probably still awake, that damned night owl, as you shuffle through the bedroom. It’s the middle of the night and Steve is asleep. Not only are you being tormented with morning sickness, feet and backaches and the occasional dizzy spell, now the leg cramps have arrived. Just when you’re about to fall asleep you feel it and the only thing that helps is walking around, and even that hurts. You try to even your breathing and focus on your baby. This will be all worth it when you hold your child, you tell yourself. All the pain will be forgotten. But that doesn’t help you right now. You have to steady yourself against a chair as your entire leg suddenly feels like it’s on bloody fire while at the same time threatening to that Steve is awake.

“Honey?”

“It’s fine, go to sleep,” you manage to growl at him.

Of course, the stubborn git doesn’t listen. Because when has Steve Rogers ever followed instructions in his entire life? You curse him under your breath as he gets up from the bed, walking over to you and putting his hands on your hips, rubbing circles.

“What’s going on?”

“Leg cramps.”

“Ouch,” he says. “What do you want me to do?”

“There’s nothing you can do, Steve,” you tell him as you start walking again, stumbling a little bit. Steve’s there to catch you, holding you against his chest as he steadies you. Your breath catches in your throat.

Two nights. This night and another night and then he leaves. You’ll have to make do without him, not even knowing if he’ll come back. 

Steve notices the change and pulls you close, burying his nose in your hair. Maybe he needs this too. The closeness, the reminder that you’re very much alive and that there’s hope. You clutch his arms, closing your eyes, swaying in the dark room. 

You’ve never loved nights a lot, not even when there were no nightmares to get to you, but your nights with Steve are wonderful. Something changes when it’s silent and nobody’s around. Boundaries are lowered as the night makes you feel like you’re invisible.

“Don’t leave me,” you whisper, so soft you don’t expect him to hear.

“Never,” he whispers into the strands of your hair. “Never, never, never.”

* * *

The next day, you throw up until you feel so dizzy that you can’t walk anymore. You have to sit next to the sink, holding a wet cloth against your head, as you wait for the world to stop spinning. It takes at least an hour, and, in that time, you try to think of what you’ll say when Steve leaves. 

What do you say to a husband who might not be coming back?

HYDRA is dangerous. You know that like no other. Sure, they have an advantage on them, but no HYDRA base is easy to take down and you know there will be casualties. There will be bereaved families. Images of weeping widows fill your mind and children who shouldn’t know what death is. You can only hope you’ll not be one of the widows and that your child won’t grow up without a father.

What happens, when Steve dies? To whom does the crown fall? You’re just the Queen consort and your child hasn’t even been born. Nobody in this kingdom will accept you as their ruler. You’ll have to go back home as the crown falls to some distant relative of Steve. Steve’s widow, raising his child in the Stark kingdom. Nothing but sweet memories of Steve to haunt you until you’ll eventually have to remarry.

Agitated, you get out of the castle. You walk past the swing, who creakingly sways in the wind. You go to the training fields, who are busier than ever, hoping you’ll find Wanda or Clint. You do see them, from a distance. Wanda is yelling at a group of soldiers, urging them on as they take laps, Clint is perfecting someone’s shooting technique. You don’t want to be a bother, so you stay away, trying to remain anonymous. It doesn’t work, you sure do stick out like a sure thumb in your fancy gown. Most people salute or bow before going back to what they were doing before you walked by.

You flinch when someone touches your elbow. It’s a gentle touch, just meant to alert you to the presence of whoever it is, but you weren’t expecting it. When you turn around, you look in the warm brown eyes of Sam.

“What’re you doing here, Y/N?” he asks, pulling you along so a group of soldiers can pass. “Something wrong? Steve’s not here if you’re looking for him.”

“I just wanted to get out of the castle,” you say.

He nods. “I understand. The mood in there...”

Before he can finish, a few of the soldiers Wanda was yelling at run by. One of them, the only woman of the group, stops for a moment. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a braid and her pretty face is covered in sweat. She nods at you before yelling at Sam: “Hey, Wilson, you joining us or not?”

“Maybe later,” Sam answers. “Can’t you see I’m entertaining someone important here?”

“Sure, sure, whatever excuse gets you out of running with us,” the woman says. 

“Carter, pick up the pace!” Wanda yells from where she’s standing. She’s in her element here, you can tell. 

“Sir, yes sir,” the woman – Carter? – mutters before continuing with her work out. Sam chuckles.

“Carter as in Peggy Carter?” you ask Sam as you walk with him.

“Yes, she’s related to Peggy. Sharon doesn’t like it though, to be compared or lumped in together with Peggy. It isn’t easy, considering that Peggy has an almost legend like status around here, but yeah.”

“That’s admirable,” you say, watching Sharon catch up with the rest of the group, laughing about something. 

“It is.” 

“You’re going on the mission, right?” you ask Sam. “Together with the rest?”

Sam nods. “Can’t have Bucky putting his ass on the line without me.” A bitter smile appears on his face as his mind seems to drift off somewhere unknown. You can feel the resentment, the pain, radiating off of him. 

Bucky hasn’t told Steve yet.

Sam suddenly realizes that you’re still there, shaking his head. “Sorry, got lost in thought there. Do you want to go and sit next to the river? That’s always nice.”

You nod. He offers his hand as you stumble a bit, your shoes very impractical on the soft grass. You take his hand gladly. The river is farther away, still close to the training fields, but away enough to have some peace and quiet. The wind blows loudly and it’s not the first time that you feel that there’s something in the air. Your heart starts beating faster as you fight the anxiety.

A flock of birds soars by, a blot of black against a blue canvas. Sam looks after them.

“Sometimes, I wish I could fly,” Sam says. “They seem so free.”

“They are. They can go wherever they want, and they can see whatever they want.”

The two of you sit down in the shade of a tree, watching as the water streams by, the sound comforting. You lean against the tree with your back. It hurts again and Sam notices as you rub your lower back.

“My ma had horrible backaches during her pregnancy. She always brought that up whenever I didn’t want to do something for her. ‘I couldn’t walk for nine months because of you, the least you could do for me is get that!’.”

You chuckle, before the realization sets in.

Sam knows.

The only people who know you’re pregnant are Steve, Darcy, and Clint. Clint, you told because he needed to know, as your bodyguard. But you had agreed with Steve that you wouldn’t tell everyone until you were further along.

Sam sees the panic on your face, and he puts his hand on your knee, squeezing softly. “Calm down, Y/N. It was just a lucky guess, considering how you’ve thrown up in public a few times. I also know you visited the healer, so.”

“Oh.”

“Congratulations. Steve must be over the moon.”

You smile. “He is.”

“And you?”

You look at Sam. “I’m… I’m happy. Just a bit scared.”

“I get that.”

“Tonight, tonight could possibly be the last night I have with Steve. I know I shouldn’t be so worked up about him leaving, but my father… my father wasn’t someone who led a lot of battles. I never saw people close to me leaving for a fight. And after what happened…”

Sam nods empathically. “… you’re scared that you’ll lose another loved one to HYDRA.”

“I feel like something’s going to go wrong.” You take a shaky breath, closing your eyes, trying to calm yourself.

“Listen, Y/N. Sure, something could go wrong, but something could go right. We’re going with the best troops and I’ll keep my eye on Steve, make sure he stays safe. He is the king and while he likes to pretend, he’s just like any other soldier, everybody knows he needs to stay alive. Maybe now he’ll have a little bit more motivation to come home safely.”

“Was he ever that reckless?”

Sam nods, pursing his lips. “He was in a pretty dark place after losing Peggy and then his parents. He managed to get himself together eventually, but there were a few times where he was just taking risks for the bad outcome. He’s better now, a bit more mature. Keyword: a bit.”

You laugh at that, shaking your head.

* * *

At night, Steve makes you tea. You’re dressed in your nightgown, your face bare, as you watch him pour a cup for you. The fire burns in the fireplace, the curtains closed. It’s still too cold, you think, but you’ll warm up when you’re underneath the blankets and cuddled up against Steve.

Your husband hands you the cup of tea and you take a grateful sip. It’s Clint’s tea because you really need to sleep. You’ll have to get up early tomorrow to say goodbye to Steve. He’s already told you that you should sleep and that you can just say goodbye now, but you don’t want that.

“If you don’t wake me up so I can kiss you goodbye, so help me, I’ll come after you!” you’ve told him.

Steve sits down next to you, putting an arm around you. “How was your day, sweetheart?”

“Not really eventful. I talked to Sam though. He figured out I’m pregnant,” you tell him.

“I didn’t expect differently. Sam has always been the smart one.”

“Well, it’s not like it’s really difficult to figure out.”

When your cup is empty, you curl up underneath the blankets. Steve lies down next to you, reaching over to stroke your hipbone. Something feels different. There’s tension in the air and it’s difficult to breathe. You look him in the eye before looking away, the contact too intense.

“You’ve got to remember what you promised me,” you eventually whisper to him. “You told me that you would never leave me.”

Steve sighs. “Honey…”

He doesn’t say anything else. He leans over you, nipping at the skin of your throat. You groan, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him close, relishing in the feel of him. He soothes the skin with a kiss before he buries his face there, breathing shakily.

You rub his back, holding him close. Not wanting this embrace to ever end. You can feel him tremble a bit and you soothe him by kissing his jawline, telling him that you’ve got him. Because you do. Your legs wrap around his small waist, making sure that he doesn’t move, that every inch of him is pressed against yours.

“Don’t die,” you breathe against him. “Please, don’t die.”

He trembles again as you choke on your tears. An image suddenly appears in your mind. An image of Steve, against a background of war. There are soldiers everywhere and more blood than should be possible. You can hear the screams, the sound of swords cutting through flesh. You focus on Steve, lying on the grass that’s still wet with dew. It all seems so real, it feels like you’re there, kneeling down next to your husband, who’s groaning. He’s pale and sweating, clutching his side and as you press your fingers there, they come back red.

You want to say something, you want to tell him that you’re there, that you’re going to get help, but he just doesn’t see you. He looks right through you as his eyes get glassy and his head falls back. He stops moving, his lungs taking one last shaky breath before giving up. You push against his body, using all your strength to shake him awake. The sounds around you only get louder and louder and as you look around, you start recognizing people. There’s Wanda, her red hair stained in her blood. Clint, lifeless, together with Sam and Bucky, who are holding hands. Far away, you can hear your mother screaming and crying for her husband. 

You turn back to Steve, only for him to have disappeared. You’re alone, on a battlefield surrounded by dead people. There’s nothing you can do. Just wish for it to be over. 

And it ends, eventually. You’re back in bed, holding Steve. A very alive Steve. As the tears stream down your cheeks, you listen to his heartbeat. It’s a comforting sound and you wiggle a bit, so your ear is squished against his chest. He seems to realize what you’re doing, and he lets you, knows that you need this comfort. 

When you eventually calm down, you let him go. He reaches for your hands, squeezing it, and you bring his hand to your lips, pressing a salty kiss against his skin.

“You have to come back. Not just for me,” you whisper. 

“I’ll do my best; I’ll do my absolute best, sweetheart.”

You think of what to say to make sure he actually gets back. You think of prayers, of women with veils praying to ancient gods and you wonder if you could join them wherever they are, begging on your knees, bargaining for the life of your husband and the lives of the others. You hate being helpless, you hate not knowing, and you know that the following days, weeks, will be filled with those horrid feelings. If only you believed, if only you were able to fight, then you would be able to do something.

Everything is out of your hands. If only you could accept that. 

Steve kisses you. It’s a wet kiss that makes you cling to him, never wanting it to end. He pulls away to stroke your hair, looking at you.

“I love you,” he says with a devotion that makes you stop breathing for a moment. “I love you, darling.”

You don’t know what to say. A good wife would tell him that she loves him too, but you can’t be that wife. Not yet. You can’t say it when you’re not there yet. You’ll get there, you know that, but this isn’t the moment.

“I…” you whisper, and he nods, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath hot against your cheek. “I… I’m falling in love with you, Steve.”

You hate the way your voice sounds, so soft and so broken. Almost childish. But it’s enough for him, this reassurance. He presses a kiss against your mouth and another and another and another until you’re breathless and so dizzy you have to stop him to take a moment.

“Come back and I’ll be the best wife,” you bargain. “The best. The absolute best.”

“Don’t. You can’t say things like that, Y/N,” Steve says. His arms tighten around you until the hold is almost painful. “Do you honestly think I blame you for your trauma? Do you think I wanted a girl to gaze at me and nod along? You are the best, sweetheart.”

You want to believe him, you honestly do, but the memories of how you lashed out at him, how you did things wrong… But then the realization comes that it doesn’t matter. That he didn’t say ‘I love you’ to the perfect wife, but to you. The you with imperfections, with nightmares and backaches, with strange emotions and a past with mistakes in it. The broken you, the person that came to be when HYDRA made you watch as they killed your parents. The person who might never be able to let that go, who will always be scarred. But that doesn’t matter to Steve. Because he loves you, all of you.

That’s devotion, that’s what he promised you on your wedding day. When he took you to be his wife, to live together in holy marriage. To love you, comfort you, honor you and keep you in sickness and in health. Forsaking all others, faithful to you as long as you both shall live.


	27. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ THIS!
> 
> Sorry, sorry! I know I haven't updated in quite some time, but I was going through some rough stuff with my own mental health, I'm feeling better now, but I just couldn't spare the time and the mental energy to write. It doesn't help that I've been dreading this chapter for quite some time because I needed it to be perfect! Anyways, now I've written it, thank god. I hope you'll like it. :)
> 
> Now, the important thing: this chapter comes with a trigger warning. It's a bit difficult to explain what the trigger is because I also don't want to spoil it, but mental health and keeping people from reliving trauma is more important than a surprise.  
> So, this chapter contains a miscarriage scene. It's not just a mention of miscarriage, it's the reader going through it.  
> I totally understand if you don't want to read something like that, so if you don't want to read that part, keep reading until you get to this sentence: "Slowly, but surely, you doze off, basking in the warmth, feeling safe.". After that, there's a line, and after that is the scene. Some stuff happens in it that is really important, so if you don't want to read the scene but still want to know what happens, you can read a little summary of what happens in the end notes! 
> 
> Stay safe and look after yourself! <3

It’s early in the morning, the sun just rising, as you say goodbye to your husband. You’re in the study with him, not alone, but the people who are there are doing their best to ignore the two of you. Wanda is arguing with Pierce and Coulson, their backs turned towards you. Bucky is waiting in the corner, his hand resting on the sword attached to his belt. His eyes are focused on the ground, like studying it is the most important thing in the world. You know he’s listening, occasionally you can see him smirk or press his lips together in what you can only guess is disagreement.

You put the note to Tony in Steve’s pocket, tapping his chest. “Don’t forget to give it to him.”

“I won’t.”

You wipe away a few stray tears and the moment Steve notices he starts looking around for a handkerchief, the desperation on his face a bit comical. You immediately remember the time that you cried about your mother in front of him and he looked at you the same way. The thought only makes more tears come.

Without saying a word, Bucky comes forward, handing Steve a handkerchief, who gives it to you. You press the cloth against your cheeks, sniffling softly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, sweetheart. Listen, I wish I could stay, I truly do. I want to be there, I want to be a good…” he pulls you a bit closer, his hand softly cupping your belly for a moment, and you know what he’s talking about. “I really wish I didn’t have to go, but this is so important, honey. Because I also need to help create a better world, a safer world. For…”

You nod. “Just don’t go taking unnecessary risks.”

He promises you that and you can almost hear Bucky scoff from his corner. You use the handkerchief again as you feel Steve’s warm finger underneath your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Dear…” he begins, and immediately you feel nervous. The way he’s saying that doesn’t promise anything good. “I… I don’t really want to talk about this, but it needs to be talked about.”

“Steve?”

“If I don’t come back,” he says, and you swallow thickly. He continues: “I’ve made some arrangements. I have a cousin who lives here in a mansion at the border. If I don’t survive, the crown will fall to him. You can stay here if you want, I’ve written and told him to take care of you and look after you. If you want to go back to your brother or somewhere else… you can do what you want. There’s money enough so you can live a comfortable life and the child will ask for nothing. All I ask of you is to return with our child on his or her eighteenth birthday, so our child can become the ruler of America. You’ll be looked after, safe. That makes it a little bit easier… knowing that if something happens, you’ll-”

You bury your face in his chest, pulling him close. “Steve, _thank you_.”

It’s a sincere thank you, you’re grateful that he’s thought of this. Not all men are like that. You’ve heard the stories, of wives who fell into the pit of poverty after they lost their husbands. Even queens, whose men didn’t prevent greedy relatives from pushing the women away. If he dies, there’ll be no worries about money or who will take the crown and things like that. It’s all been taken care of.

If he dies, all you’ll have to do is mourn.

A month behind a dark veil, a month of tears, a month of people asking how you are and then the inevitability of having to move on when the only thing you want to do is stay right where you are.

You’ve been through it before, you know the pain. If Steve dies, how will you cope? You suspect that he’s told his friends about your fragile state of mind, making them promise to look after you and keep you from breaking down, but in the end, you’ll have to be the one to force yourself to stay upright. For your child. Because you can’t go to that dark place again, not with a baby coming. You’ve got someone depending on you now, counting on you staying healthy and alive.

That thought is terrifying.

You press a kiss against Steve’s jaw. “Thank you,” you say again. You need him to know. His hands rest on your lower back, holding you against him. You can feel his intake of breath and you know he’s going to say something, but then Wanda coughs softly.

You let Steve go and he pulls himself together. He can’t be the adoring husband who doesn’t want to go anymore, now he needs to be a king. A soldier. A leader. Your hand rests on his arm as Wanda says that it’s really time to leave now, her eyes kind.

“We can’t afford to be late,” she says, apologizingly.

“Of course,” Steve agrees, before turning to you. “Walk with me?”

He offers you his arm and you take it, pressing your face against his arm, as you try to calm yourself so you won’t cry again. You hate the looks on Coulson and Pierce’s faces. The pity is clear, but that’s not the only thing. They just see another queen who’s emotional, who can’t control herself, who needs a man to set her straight. Nobody really sees you.

Maybe Bucky does, but you’re not sure.

Outside, there’s all sorts of noise. Everybody is busy, causing a commotion. It’s annoying Wanda, you can see that. You spot a few people in the crowd; Sam is there, talking to Sharon Carter. Clint is waving his bow and arrow around, surprisingly relaxed. Scott Lang – you haven’t seen him in a long time! – is bickering with a brunette, close to the stables.

Clint sees you too, waving at you. There’s an unspoken understanding between the two of you, born this morning when he knocked on the bedroom door while you were getting dressed. He hadn’t been that at ease then. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all.

“Where’s Steve?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“To the kitchen, getting breakfast. What’s going on, Clint?”

“I… I need to ask you for a favor. Well, from you and Steve.”

“Of course, what is it?”

“If I don’t come back… I’m counting on coming back… but sometimes… don’t let my wife and children know through a letter. Please, make sure somebody goes and tell them in person. I know how long it takes before those letters are sent and they’re all impersonal. I just can’t stand the idea of Laura waiting and waiting until one of those damned things arrive. Please.”

“Of course, I will, Clint,” you promised him. “If that happens, I’ll go myself.”

“Don’t overexert yourself.”

“I’m pregnant, not terminally ill,” you had said, hugging him before Steve came in with a tray.

Now there’s a smile on Clint’s face. He puts his arrows away before making his way through the crowd, nodding at Steve and the rest of the group. “We’re leaving?”

“Damn right, we’re leaving,” Wanda mutters.

“Alright. Y/N, you know what to do, right? Take it easy, carry your dagger wherever you go. Don’t leave the castle,” Clint tells you like he hasn’t mentioned this every time he saw you over the past week.

You nod. “I will. Be careful, Clint.”

“We’ll keep the Queen consort safe,” Lord Pierce says from behind you. When did he move behind you? As Clint leaves with Wanda and Coulson, you and Steve stay behind with Pierce.

Steve’s arm tightens around you. “With almost everybody gone, Coulson and Pierce will be keeping an eye on things and running the country.”

“If there’s anything you need, your Majesty, you can always come to us,” Pierce assures you, flashing you a smile that you can only describe as charming. “I would have joined the rest on the battlefield, but according to my wife, my days of fighting are over. As much as I would like to ignore it, I am getting older.”

“Your wife seems like a smart woman,” you say.

“She is, she is. Well, I’ll leave you two to it.”

You turn to Steve, a bit overwhelmed by all the noise and the realization that the moment has truly come. You’re going to say goodbye to your husband, a husband who might not come back. You can feel the tears coming again and you can chalk how easy they come on the pregnancy hormones. Steve notices and he pulls you in another embrace, allowing you to hide your face from the world.

You know this hurts him too. He’s terrified, you know that. You know that he’s feeling like the entire world is resting on his shoulders and you wish you could take that burden from him. But you can’t. It’s hard, but it’s the truth. You know that it’ll be tough on him, but you also know he’ll get through them. He’s strong, resilient. You couldn’t have wished for a better husband, you realize. You think back, to that day that Tony and Pepper were made King and Queen of the Stark Kingdom and Natasha mentioned Steve. How you had no idea what kind of a man he was. How it felt like jumping from a cliff into the darkness as you wrote that letter. How broken, how scared you were.

All for nothing.

Steve pulls away so he can kiss you. It’s a relatively chaste kiss, there’s no real passion visible – you are standing in the middle of the courtyard after all – but you can taste the pain, the love, the desperation in it. You never want to let him go, you never want this kiss to end. You want to remain here, for the rest of your life, just loving him and being loved by him. A life growing inside of you, the danger far away. Safe, secure, held.

“I love you,” he says, giving you another kiss, this one on your forehead. “I love the little peanut too.”

“The little peanut?”

“You know… the baby,” he whispers. “I don’t know, Sam was talking to me and he called it that. Little peanut.”

“That is really strange,” you whisper back, cupping his cheek. “I like it.”

Wanda yells, but you’re so caught up in the moment that you don’t hear it. Steve does and he pulls away. “I have to go now, honey. I’ll give the note to Tony, I’ll be careful, as long as you’re careful too.”

“I’ll see you soon,” you say, forcing yourself to speak up despite the lump in your throat. “Good luck, Steve.”

He lingers, only for a moment, but it’s enough for you to see the sadness hiding in his eyes. He strokes your hair one last time, forcing himself to smile, before nodding and walking away. You cross your arms, trying to hug yourself, fighting the rising nausea. Damned morning sickness. As you watch your husband you leave, you think bitterly of the fact that you’ll be locked in the bathroom for half an hour, if you’re lucky, but this time without Steve there to hold your hair back or tell you that it’s going to be all right.

You’re alone. You’re truly, truly alone, in all of this. Who will comfort you when you have a nightmare, who will eat with you, who will you talk to about your book,

Phil Coulson walks over to you, clearly wincing when he gets a close look of your pale face where traces of tears can still be seen upon. “Do you want me to walk you inside, your Majesty.”

“No, thank you,” you say, internally flinching at the broken sound of your own voice.

He nods, muttering something intelligible before walking inside. You watch, as everybody leaves, trying to catch a last glimpse of Steve before having to accept that he’s left and that ‘Good luck, Steve’ might be the last words you’ve ever said to him.

* * *

_Dear little peanut,_

_It’s your mother. Since I don’t know if you’re a boy or a girl and your father and I haven’t talked about names, I’ll have to stick to the nickname your father has given you. Well, your uncle Sam gave it to you and then your father told me about it. I’m sure he’ll give you another nickname soon enough, a name that he’s thought of._

_He calls me sweetheart and honey. Maybe he’ll call you munchkin. My father, your grandfather, called me that occasionally. ‘Careful there, munchkin,’ he’d say and he’d pat my head. I’m sorry that you won’t be able to meet your grandparents. My parents would have been overjoyed, I’m sure. I’ve never met your dad’s parents, but the way he talks about them, they would have loved you. I mean, that’s kind of the magic of pregnancy. There’s something new, something amazing, something that unites people in a way that they didn’t before. That’s how a family is made._

_I don’t know if you’ll ever get to read this. I wonder who you are, what you look like. If you have your father’s eyes. Maybe you’ve got my hair. How does your voice sound? What kind of a person are you? Do you have humor? Are you artistically talented? If you read this, where are you in your life right now? Are you a teenager of are you already married? Already ruling over America? Am I still there? Is your father there?_

_I wish I could look in the future. I hate not knowing. I suppose you know that since I’m your mother. I hope I’m a good mother. Or have been a good mother. Someone you could trust, someone you could talk to. Someone you love. I really want to do my best. I want to be a good mother. About your father, there’s no doubt. He’ll be amazing. He’s already such a good caretaker and he’s a natural around children. I suppose I’m a natural around children, everybody says that, but maybe it’ll be different when you’ve got a child of your flesh and blood in front of you._

_I’m scared, if you can’t tell. Honest to god terrified, love._

_I’m writing this because your father just left to fight and I don’t have anything good to do. I’m trying to keep my mind away from darker matters. I have to write another letter after this one, and it’s an important letter that I… I don’t know… it’s difficult. But I hope that I taught you that you shouldn’t run away from challenges._

_I hate this, speaking in the dark. I want to meet you, baby. I know, I should be patient. But you must know, that being patient isn’t my strongest forte. Let’s hope that you didn’t inherit that from me, shall we?_

_Until we meet,_

_your mother._

* * *

_Dearest Tasha,_

_Thank you for your letter and the apology in it. I can’t lie and say that everything didn’t hurt me, but I understand better now. I was angry in the beginning. I didn’t wear your necklace. I started wearing it again after your letter._

_I’m doing alright. Well, relatively alright. You’re right, I can handle myself. Steve is looking after me, but at the moment that I’m writing this letter, he’s no longer there. He’s off to the battlefield, somewhere where you will surely be. So, by the time you receive this letter, you’ll be back. I’m counting on you coming back. You always come back, Natasha. You’re kind of immortal in my eyes. I hope everything went well, and that by the time that you’re reading this, everybody is at home and safe._

_I understand that you won’t come to visit soon, but I do hope that you know that you are always welcome. Even when I was hurt, you were welcome. You will always be welcome at my home, Nat. So, if the time feels right for you, drop by. Maybe let me know first, alright? Then I can make sure your favorite food is there. I really want to talk to you again. Writing letters… it doesn’t compare. So, I’m sure, that someday we’ll meet again and we’ll talk. It’ll be like the old days._

_Congratulations on your promotion! Your job sounds like it was made for you and I’m sure you’re doing great. Pepper wrote to me about her mother, that’s awful!_

_Thank you for explaining why you didn’t write. I’m happy, truly, that there’s a possibility of love for you. Carol Danvers sounds like quite the woman and this connection… I’m happy. I sound like a broken record, but I mean it._

_I get your feelings. This probably sounds really mean, but you were sort of my safety net. A part of me too thought that we would marry. Just because I didn’t think I would ever feel the love that I’m feeling for Steve. The connection that you talk about, I don’t know, it wasn’t like that, but there is love here. How we met and how we got married wasn’t ideal, I would have liked it more if we had met in more a more natural setting and not with a wedding date looming over us, but it worked out for us. As I said earlier, I get your feelings, but I’m still a bit angry at you for taking things out on me. The whole time I’ve been the one trying to keep our relationship semi-alive. So I hope you get that too._

_I think I can forgive you, Nat. I took some time to think over it, but yeah. I can’t keep on being angry. You know I hate the feeling of that._

_Thank you for telling me about that memory. I’m sorry to say that I don’t remember it, but my memory isn’t the best. But I can say that you were important to me too, from the moment I met you. You were there for me, always. I loved you with all my heart, Tasha, and I still do, just in a different way. Our lives are different. We’re not the same people anymore. But that doesn’t change the fact that I am your friend, and will always be._

_I suspect you might have heard this from Tony already, but just in case you didn’t: I’m pregnant. I’m around three months along and I’m really excited and terrified at the same time. So, you’ll have to drop by eventually. Can’t have this baby growing up without their auntie Nat._

_Love,_

_Y/N._

* * *

You eat dinner in the kitchens.

It’s not as crowded as it usually is. Anne explains to you that with a lot of the people in the palace gone, there’s not a lot of dinners that needs to be cooked. She and her maids have already whipped out the meals for most of the noble ladies that are still in the palace so that when you come around, she’s got time to eat with you.

It’s pea soup this time. Anne winces a bit when she takes a spoonful, mumbling about how she should have added a bit more herbs, but you think it’s fine. You’ll never have that refined taste, you suppose. Perhaps that’s good because Anne can’t seem to enjoy her food because of the tiny flaw she’s found in it.

“They’ll do fine,” Anne reassures you. “That husband of yours has been fighting all his damned life, your Majesty.”

She still adds the ‘your Majesty’ out of habit, and you smirk. “I know. But you also know me, I worry.”

Anne smiles. “Worrying just means you love him. I’m sure you’re not worrying about what will happen to the bad guys?”

“No.”

“You being lonely sure doesn’t help,” Anne comments and you frown.

“I’m not lonely,” you protest, even though you know she’s right. You’ve been lonely, ever since Darcy and Jo both left. You haven’t got any real other friends around here and Anne knows it. You would have to be a fool not to notice your loneliness.

Anne doesn’t argue with you, she just shakes her head, before finishing her soup. You shiver a bit, despite the warmth that the fire provides. Anne notices and your shoulder, smiling at you. You haven’t eaten much. You still feel a bit nauseous and there’s some cramping too. Combined with your feet and back aching, you feel terrible. Anne takes your half eaten bowl away to get it washed. You watch the shadows on the wall, trying to picture where Steve is now. Has he eaten already? You doubt it. You know he has the bad habit of neglecting himself when he’s stressed. You hope Bucky or Sam will look after him, will snap him out of it.

Perhaps, this is praying. Praying, like your mother used to do. Silently, not caring about what other people thought. People like your father, who didn’t care about gods. You’ve always wondered what she prayed for. Did she pray for you and Tony? For her husband? For herself? Who taught her to? Maybe her own mother.

You’ve always wondered why she didn’t teach you. Did she finally stop believing in her gods? Did she think that you had no interest in it, being daddy’s girl? Did she perhaps teach Tony to pray?

You’ll never know.

Anne turns around, clearing her throat. “Go to bed, your Majesty. It’s been a long day.”

It _has_ been a long day. Sleeping sounds heavenly right now, but it’ll be hard, sleeping alone after a few months of Steve at your side. A part of you dreads the nighttime because you fear that your nightmares will come back to haunt you. Somehow, the last few weeks you’ve actually haven’t had a nightmare, but what if tonight you’ll have one? You can already imagine what kind of horrible pictures your mind will conjure. You don’t want to see your husband, bleeding to death. Or a baby, being thrown out of a window. People screaming for your help, your mother’s screams ringing in your ears, your bother coughing up blood before taking his last breath.

But you can’t run away every time that you get scared. You have to face your fears. And you know Anne wants to get to cleaning so she can go to bed herself. You can’t stay here in the kitchens the whole night.

“Will you make some tea for me?” you ask her, standing up.

“The special tea?” she asks. You nod. You really need some of Clint’s tea to get some shut eye. “I’ll have it delivered to you, your Majesty.”

* * *

It’s dark and cold in the bedroom. You shut the curtains before going over to the fireplace. Normally Steve lights a fire, so you don’t really know what to do. You try to remember how he does it, because you really need some warmth. Eventually, you manage to figure it out, and you kneel in front of the fire, watching the flames flicker and enjoy how the warmth washes over you. You close your eyes for a moment, imagining yourself on a beach, the sea tickling your toes as you walk, the sun on your head. You’ve been to a beach once, on a trip with your parents. You were shocked at the endlessness of the water.

“There has to be an end somewhere,” you told your father, who pinched your cheeks and laughed.

“Of course there’s an end somewhere, Y/N. But where that end is, we’ll never know.”

You open your eyes and reach up to take the pins out of your hair, letting your locks fall loose in front of your eyes. You turn around, looking at the desk in front of the window that Steve sometimes works behind. Well, works, it’s mostly his drawing. You walk over to it, looking through the sketches that you’ve seen so many times now. To your surprise, you find a few new ones, sketches that he didn’t show you. A small part of you tells you to put the sketches away and respect his privacy, but you push that part away. You’re curious. A few of them are of you, you in your new dresses, you with Darcy and Jo on the picknick blanket and one where you just smile. There are some rough sketches of Bucky, Sam, Wanda and brunette with a million dollar smile. You can only assume she’s Peggy. But the sketches that really capture your attention are the sketches of baby’s. The attention he has put in them… the care for detail. Each nose, each pair of ears, each plump cheeks, carefully drawn. You trace the lines, a bit shaken by the love put in these sketches. You know who these babies represent and your hand comes down to cup your belly, softly squeezing.

A maid knocking on the door snaps you out of your thoughts. You put the sketches away to open the door. You take the plate with the teapot and teacup on it, thanking the girl. You put the plate down on the floor so you can close the door, lingering in the door opening as you stare in the darkness. It’s gotten dark so early. The silence in the castle is truly unnerving. From the moment you came here, it’s never been truly silent. But now, with most of the people gone, it’s quiet. A dangerous quiet. A shiver travels up your spine as you close the door, picking up the plate.

You get undressed in the closet, changing into one of your warm nightgowns. You get ready in the bathroom. Everything takes twice as long and every little sound frightens you. You’re glad when you’re in your warm bed, pouring yourself a cup of tea.

Steve must have already given Tony the note. You wonder how your brother reacted. Did he smile, or crack a joke? Wipe away a tear, perhaps? Congratulate Steve? Is Natasha there, hearing the news? How does she feel about it all?

You burn your tongue drinking the hot tea, but you ignore the burn. You lay back against the pillows, staring at the fire until you don’t think of anything. Slowly, but surely, you doze off, basking in the warmth, feeling safe.

* * *

When you wake up, it’s almost completely dark. The fire has burned out, but the candle you lit before going to bed is still flickering faintly on Steve’s desk, illuminating the sketches. You can’t tell what woke you up and you also can’t remember what you were dreaming about. You consider that a win. It was probably pretty mundane, but if it was bad, you at least don’t have to lay awake and think about it for hours.

You sit up a bit, shuffling the pillows. Something feels wrong, but you can’t tell what it is. You look around the dark room, trembling a little bit. Your heart is beating faster like you’re getting ready to fight. You move again, wincing at the stabbing in your lower back. You’ve experienced back pain before, but this is different. It’s much harsher and sudden. Just as you’re forcing your body to relax, the pain returns and you clutch the blankets, grinding your teeth. It seems to go on, forever and ever.

You wish Steve was here, so you can complain to him, so you can hold his hand and listen to his soothing voice. So he can get a healer for you because there’s something _wrong_.

The cramps you felt before going to bed are still there. You force yourself to let go of the bedding and bring one of your hands under the blankets and under your nightgown. You don’t want to do it, you don’t want this to be real. You struggle a bit to stay still while you try to get your hand inside your underwear. The moment your fingers feel something wet, you bite your lip. Even in the faint light, you can tell that the wetness on your fingertips is red, a vicious dark red.

The pain in your back is still there, but you ignore it as you push the blankets off of you. It’s too warm, too scratchy right now. You steady yourself on the bedside table, hunching over as you fight your tears. You know what’s going on, you know what this bleeding means. This too, explained by your mother in that awkward conversation.

_“Sometimes, Y/N, it just happens. I don’t really know why, it’s really awful, but it happens. A lot, actually. I know a lot of women… who that happened to. It doesn’t mean that you can’t try again, though.”_

You cup your lower belly. It’s different from before. “Don’t go,” you manage to croak out. “ _Please_ , don’t go.”

It doesn’t work like that, a little voice tells you. It has already happened.

Your entire body shakes as you fight the pain – both the physical and emotional one – and you stumble over to the bathroom, pushing open the door. You try to calm yourself down, telling yourself that you’ll be alright, that you’ll get help. There are maids everywhere, you’ll get one of them to get Jonathan. As far as you know, he’s still in the palace. He’ll figure it out. Maybe it’s not what you think. Maybe it’s not really happening. You could be wrong, after all, you were never trained by a healer. There has to be another explanation. But when you sit down, bunching your nightgown up to your hips and pulling your underwear down, you know it can’t possibly be anything else. There’s too much blood and clots for this to be something different, something innocent.

You sit there for a moment, just staring at the blood, ignoring the cramps that are still there. You want to cry, but you can’t. Something is stopping you from falling apart on the spot – probably the fact that you need to get somewhere safe, the knowledge that this possibly could be dangerous – and you’re grateful for it. You’re in a daze, everything is silent and far away and the blood just gets redder and redder until for a moment you remember the blood on your dress and fingers from when your parents were murdered.

This isn’t murder, this is just your body failing to do what it should naturally do. _It doesn’t mean that you can’t try again, though._

You bury your face in your hands at the thought of Steve, who has no idea what’s happening. Maybe he’s talking to Tony, your brother threatening him if Steve isn’t a good father to the little peanut.

The little peanut. A tiny sound escapes you and you immediately bite your lip, stifling it. You don’t want to try again, you realize. You want the little peanut back and you want to be in bed and safe and not bleeding and not alone and not so incredibly scared that you can’t fucking stop shaking. You want Steve.

You stand up, careful not to fall, walking over to the mirror. You wash your hands and your face, trying to scrub away the traces of blood on your pale skin from when you touched your face. It’s so dark and it’s so silent that our eyes are ringing. God, you hate the silence. You want to scream, just to make an end to it. You chuckle a little bit at that, the sound of your own chuckle so foreign that it almost scares you. Stop it, Y/N, you tell yourself, you need to go, you need to go, you need to go!

With that in mind, you leave the bedroom, walking through the darkened room to the closet. You need slippers and a robe and you need your rags that you usually use for your monthly bleeding. Your hand trembles when you open the door, the pain ignored as you start forming a plan.

In the privacy of the closet, you put on the slippers and the robe. It doesn’t help with the shaking, but that doesn’t matter. You put on a fresh pair of underwear with a rag, shoving the soiled underwear in the corner. You don’t want to touch it. You don’t want any of this. “Just keep it together,” you whisper. “It’s going to be fine.”

It’s not, but you need something to believe in. Something to keep you upright.

Suddenly, it’s not silent anymore. As you stand in your closet, rubbing your fingers together because it feels like you still have the blood on there, someone twists the doorknob and the door opens. Its creaky sound distracts you from your rubbing, your heart rate spiking. Because you can tell from the heavy footsteps, this isn’t a maid. There are multiple men in your bedroom, coming off the fact that they’re wearing heavy boots and you hear one of them grumble, a low sound. You hear one of them walking across the room and you hold your breath, your hand going to your lower back as you feel another stab. The sound of the person pulling away the blankets on the bed fills your eyes and a man curses.

“What? Where is she?” you hear someone say. The voice doesn’t sound familiar. You take a shaky breath, your mind filled with so many thoughts you think you’re going to drown.

“Check the bathroom,” someone orders.

That’s a voice you recognize.

Alexander Pierce. The great Lord Pierce. The man who told you to come to him if you ever needed something. Maybe, years ago, when you were more naïve, when you were just a princess, you would have opened the closet and thrown yourself in his arms, telling him that there’s blood and that you need help. But you’re older now. You’re a Queen. And you can tell something is entirely wrong about this situation.

Why didn’t they knock? Why didn’t they refer to you as ‘the Queen’? What would Alexander Pierce want from you in the middle of the night? And why can you hear the sound of a sword being taken out of its sheath?

You press your hands against the wood of the door. They’ll check the closet after they do the bathroom, you’re sure of it. If your suspicions are right, they won’t just leave. They’ll tear this room apart if that’s what is necessary to find you. You probably less than a minute and that thought spurs you into action. You’ve put your dagger in here, next to your jewelry box. It’s a bit hard to navigate in the semi-darkness, but finally, your hand finds the cold handle of the dagger. As a mental clock ticks away, you put the dagger inside the pocket of your robe. You move too quickly, your hand brushing against the jewelry box, knocking it over. You’re not quick enough to catch the damn thing and it falls on the floor with a loud bang that can’t have escaped the attention of the men outside. Some reflex makes you put your hand over your mouth, keeping you silent.

The sound of the man’s boots comes closer until Pierce speaks again.

“It’s alright, Morrison. I’ll handle this.”

“Sir-”

“Leave.”

You lean against the wall, trying to even your breathing as the men walk to the door. You listen to the creaky sound of the door closing before it’s silent again. The seconds seem to drag on as you try to think of what will happen, what you will do. For a moment, you forget that you’re bleeding. You don’t think of what you’ve lost. You can’t. You can’t think of that or else you’ll fall to the ground and just not get up. You need to stay sharp, you need to think.

The door of the closet swings open and there’s Pierce, smiling at you. “What are you doing, Mrs. Rogers? Hiding in closets? What are we, children playing hide and seek? Come on out now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of the miscarriage scene:  
> Reader wakes up, experiences miscarriage symptoms. She goes to the bathroom, realizes she's experiencing a miscarriage and decides she needs to go and see the healer. She goes to the closet to get her robe and slippers, where she experiences a mini panic attack. As she's inside the closet, a group of men enters the bedroom. One of them is Lord Pierce. They're looking for the reader and she realizes something is wrong. She gets her dagger but knocks over a jewelry box, making a loud noise. Pierce orders the rest of the men to leave and opens the door, asking her what's she's hiding in a closet for. After all, they aren't children playing hide and seek, right?
> 
> I look forward to hearing from you in the comments. I hope you liked this chapter!


	28. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been too long since I've updated... sorry guys, life just got in the way. Y'all know me by now.  
> Anyway, here I am. This chapter is a little bit shorter than usual, but I promise that the next chapter won't take too much time. I'm working hard on wrapping this story up nicely. You guys deserve it!
> 
> Thank you all for your lovely comments, it means the world to me, god knows I was so nervous about posting the last chapter.  
> I know the ending of the last chapter was rough. Miscarriage is tough and can be such a traumatic thing. In this chapter and the upcoming chapters, the miscarriage will still be mentioned (bleeding, the loss of a child, etc.) In the last chapter, I could give a warning when to stop reading, but that's impossible to do now. It's just sprinkled throughout. So, just take care of yourself, check-in with yourself and if it gets too much, please stop reading... your mental health goes first!

You want the silence back.

As you step out of your safe haven – the closet that smells like Steve because of the clothes he has hanging there – you can hear the sounds of men yelling, of women screaming, of people running. A dog barks. It’s clear the animal is in distress. At home, your father had a butler named Jarvis, who lived with his wife Ana in the castle. They had dogs, dogs that Jarvis tolerated and Ana doted over. One time, one of their dogs broke their paw and it howled and howled until it couldn’t anymore. The sound that this dog is making now, brings you back to then, when you couldn’t get the sound of a creature in pain out of your head and you begged your father to do something.

You’re jolted back to the present as Pierce puts his hand on your shoulder, forcing you to keep walking. There’s another candle on the table, one you assume he’s brought with him. Now that there’s more light you can see that the men ransacked the room. The blankets are on the ground, some of Steve’s sketches on the floor. The one of your baby is trampled upon.

“Why don’t you sit down? You look like you’re about to collapse,” Pierce says, and you almost believe that he’s worried about you. He escorts you to one of the chairs in front of the fireplace. As soon as you sit down, he drags the other chair closer, sitting down himself.

“Shouldn’t a lady like yourself be getting some beauty sleep?” Pierce asks, something that you can only describe as amusement visible on his face. “Or do you normally spend the evening in a closet?”

You know he expects an answer. This silence can’t go on longer. As you listen to a woman screaming, not very far from here, you open your mouth. “I was cold.”

“It does get cold in this palace. Drafty too.”

You force yourself to smile and nod. “How can I help you, Lord Pierce?”

“Really? You want to continue with this charade?”

The dog has stopped barking. You can hear your heartbeat now. A loud thump, thump, ensuring that you’re alive. That you still have a chance of survival. You wonder what has happened to the dog. You know one thing that shuts up a dog who’s in distress.

More blood.

“Do you?” you ask. He smirks at you and you continue. “Who are you? Really?”

“Alexander Pierce.”

“But you’re not the loyal Alexander Pierce. That man wouldn’t barge into my bedroom with back up. You could get in serious problems for this.”

Pierce chuckles. “My dear, do you think I do not know that? And you’re wrong. I am loyal. Just not to your precious husband and his America.”

“Where does your loyalty lie then?”

“Don’t you know?” A pause. “HYDRA.”

Of course. Maybe you knew the moment he told them to check the bathroom. HYDRA is everywhere. There’s always a dark corner to hide, but you should know by now they love to hide right in the middle of the spotlight. When that HYDRA woman hung herself, you knew that there were HYDRA people in the castle. You just never assumed that it was somebody that Steve trusted, someone with a wife, someone who could make a joke.

“What is your plan? Are you here to kill me? What is going on outside?” you ask, your voice surprisingly steady.

“Of course I’m here to kill you, Mrs. Rogers,” Pierce answers, rubbing his stubbly cheeks. “Outside? My people are rounding up the ones that are loyal to America. The people who would fight for you. Now, I’m not a horrible person, I didn’t order them to kill anyone, but it seems that your people aren’t being very cooperative. Do you hear that?”

A shiver runs up your spine as you hear someone scream in terror. Your mother screamed such a scream before she died.

“I have to kill you tonight. But I do hope we can be civil about it. I would hate for you to scream or cry or fall down on your knees and beg. Just accept that you’re going to die. And die with dignity. Queen consorts do like to go out honorably. It’ll make things better for your husband if he survives and hears about this.”

 _Steve_.

“Your… your people know they’re coming…” you whisper.

“Dear, the HYDRA base they’re traveling to is empty. It was used years ago. They won’t even reach it, but if they did, they would find no one there.”

“What do you mean, they won’t even reach it?”

“Maximoff’s people are fighting too. The Sokovians. They fight for us. They are us. They’ll kill the rest on their way to the base. Oh, Mrs. Rogers, we are everywhere. In every kingdom, in every palace. Everywhere, right now, people are fighting, and we are winning.”

“In the Stark kingdom?”

“Every kingdom. I suppose your sister-in-law Pepper is dead by now,” Pierce tells you.

You think of Pepper, of her belly that must be big right now. You know she can defend herself... but against a group of HYDRA soldiers? It’s quite possible she’s dead. Gone. You try to think of what you said to her before she left, but you can’t remember.

So many people you love could be dead right now. Darcy with her Lady Foster in the Asgardian palace. She could be dead. You hope Jo is safe, far away from the battles.

Your husband and your friends, traveling with their enemy, not knowing of the danger hanging above them. You get nauseous thinking of it. You know Steve is strong, you know Wanda’s tactics are impeccable, you know Natasha is a wonderful fighter, but they won’t stand a chance against a fully geared army that will know how to catch them by surprise.

“We’re taking over. The time to hide is over,” Pierce says. “We win. We stand victorious.”

“People like you will never be victorious. Disgusting people who sacrifice their own, who indoctrinate children, who prey on the weak,” you spit. “That woman who was arrested for trying to kill me on the wedding, did she choose to hang herself or did you have to force her?”

“She was convinced after a few minutes of conversation.”

“What was her name?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter?” Pierce asks.

“She’s buried as an unknown woman. A woman who died for HYDRA, while you kept your hands clean. I’m surprised you’ve decided to kill me and you haven’t sent one of your men to do it.”

Pierce sits back in his chair, not at all bothered. “I wanted to speak to you. You’re an interesting woman, Y/N Rogers.”

“Really?”

“We’ve kept our eyes on you. You were actually meant to be killed, that night. Alongside your parents and brother. He managed to escape our clutches, but you were right there. One of the people I sent apparently made a different call. He was punished accordingly. We can’t have that happening again. Anyway, then your husband had to ask someone to marry him and he chose to send you a letter. We didn’t really think that you would accept, you’ve rejected every proposal. It was a pleasant surprise, to have you come here and become the Queen of America.”

You don’t know what to say. It doesn’t matter, Pierce doesn’t want you to talk. Men like him like the sound of their own voice.

He continues. “I don’t hate you. I quite like you. A bit of a rebel, not the perfect princess. You are so much more than a pretty girl for Rogers to show off. Your father educated you well, you were raised alongside the Black Widow, no, you’re smarter than you look. Unfortunately, that also means that you’re dangerous, dear.”

“Is that why you tried to kill me at my wedding?” you ask.

“Ah, your wedding. Once again we failed. Not for a lack of trying, that lady did her best. And then you had to take that girl in and take care of her as if she was your own child. Tell me, is that what your father taught you? To love and feed your enemies?”

“Jo wasn’t the enemy. She was manipulated and used by you,” you say, fury burning bright inside of you at the thought of that little girl losing her parents and being taken away to be used. “Shame on you. You used a child to try and kill me.”

“Do you think I care? I didn’t even know her name. The point is, I wish I didn’t have to kill you. I truly do. If that makes it any better.”

“It doesn’t.”

“We know that Steve has arranged for his cousin to rule America in case he dies. And he will, trust me. His cousin has been taken care of, which leaves you. You know I have eyes and ears everywhere. You’re pregnant. Boy or girl, it doesn’t matter. And even if you weren’t, we can’t afford to leave… how shall I call it… loose threads.”

A dull pain in your chest forms when he mentions the pregnancy. You know it won’t change anything if you tell him that you’re bleeding, that you’re losing that little life inside of you. It doesn’t matter, because you aren’t going to die. Every cell in your body is fighting, everything in you telling you to fight like you still have something inside of you to protect. Your hand is still in the pocket of your robe, touching the dagger.

You know how to kill someone with it. Natasha taught you. She told you to use all your strength, to not hesitate. You won’t. There’s nothing inside of you that feels compassion for this man in front of you. The man who gave the orders to kill your parents and you. This is the man who you’ve been so afraid of, the man who you thought hid in the shadows. He’s HYDRA. He’s the person who broke you, who changed your entire life, who’s the reason that you married Steve, that you’re America’s queen. He’s the demon who has been following you ever since that fateful night that you lost your parents.

“What will happen to the people?” you ask. “The staff?”

“I’m not cruel. Those that wish to join us will be allowed to do so, those that don’t will be given as much time as we have to change their minds. After that, we’ll have to… eliminate… some of them. Especially the extremely loyal ones.”

“Coulson?”

“Already gone,” Pierce says. “It was a shame to kill him, he was such a nice man, but utterly devoted to your husband. He would have never joined us and would have probably come up with a plan to sabotage our plan.”

You’ve never talked much to Coulson, but you know Steve liked him a lot and depended on him for many things. Every good king is only good because he has a good advisor, your father once told you, and you guess it’s true. You wonder if he had a wife, maybe even children. Nobody ever mentioned them, but maybe you just haven’t been paying attention. Things like that happen.

And now, it’s too late.

A sigh escapes you and you bury your face in your hands, closing your eyes. A childish notion, that if you can’t see Pierce, he can’t see you. That you can hide from all of this. Because that’s what you want. You want more than anything to be somewhere else, away from blood and destruction. With your baby still there and your husband to comfort you. You want reassurance: that Pepper and Darcy and the rest are still alive.

Pierce’s voice breaks the silence. “Anything that you want to do before it’s time, Mrs. Rogers? A letter to write, maybe you want a drink?”

“The latter, please,” you whisper, opening your eyes. “Steve keeps some liquor there.” You point towards the cabinet and Pierce nods.

“Smart man,” Pierce says as he stands up, walking over to the cabinet. He fiddles with it, you can hear him grunt in annoyance.

“Oh, I forgot, Steve keeps it locked up,” you say, making your way through the room to Steve’s desk.

You open the drawer where you know he keeps the key. You linger for a moment, knowing that what you’re about to do will change it all. You take the key, shutting the drawer, holding it up so Pierce can see it.

You can hear the pumping of your blood in your ears as you walk towards him, one hand holding the key, one hand holding the dagger in your pocket. This is it, you tell yourself, this is the moment. This is your chance to free yourself from your demon, to save yourself. This is your chance for revenge on your parents, the opportunity to plant a dagger in the man who gave the order.

Pierce takes the key from you, smiling, as he turns his back to you to unlock the cabinet. Despite all his talk about how you are so much more than just a pretty girl, he thinks that he can safely turn his back towards you. He doesn’t think you’ll try anything, not anymore, you realize. He thinks he has broken you. He thinks he’s already won.

Not today. Not today. Maybe this was what Steve was talking about, when you had breakfast with him after arriving in America. That fire, that anger, that stubbornness. You don’t give up, you don’t give in. There’s a fire inside of you and you can feel it burning and sparking.

Just as he reaches inside the cabinet for the liquor bottle, you throw your arms around his neck, holding him as you stab your dagger in his throat. He struggles, but you’re using all of your strength, all of your fury to keep him in your arms. You pull the dagger out. That’s how you kill someone, Natasha once said. If you ever get stabbed, keep the dagger inside. It will keep the blood from leaving. It’s not the stab that kills you, it’s the blood loss. Pierce stutters a bit, swaying on his food as his hands reach up towards his throat where blood cascades out.

You hold him against you as he slumps towards the ground. There’s so much blood on him and it gets on you too, your hands, your nightgown. He’s everywhere, you can smell him, a distinct smell that reminds you of an old man. You have no idea how long it takes for him to die. You’re in an almost trance-like state. There’s no fear. No, there’s nothing. You’re just sitting there with a dying man in your arms and something just died inside of you and you’re going to be just fine. There’s no screaming, no celebration. Your parents aren’t there, to tell you how proud they are of you. There’s no Steve, to take you in his arms and kiss you, taking away all the pain. Nobody’s there. You’re all alone.

Just before he goes, Pierce seems to regain some clarity. He looks at you, with those terrifying eyes. He splutters. “Well… well… done… Mrs. Rogers.” It’s over, you think, but then he stiffens a bit. “… hail HYDRA…”

And then, it’s over.

The demon is gone.

He relaxes in your arms. You drown out the sound of the gurgling in his chest. The blood is still there, all sticky as it dries up. You let him go and he falls to the ground, face first, with a loud slam. With trembling legs, you stand up, towering over his body.

You’ve won. The fire is still burning. You let go of your dagger, letting it fall to the ground next to Pierce. With a loud sigh, you make your way over to the bathroom, to wash your hands.

You haven’t got much time. You need to get out of here, you need to think, you need to move. This isn’t over yet. You need to hide Pierce, you need to clean the blood of the ground.

You need to win the next round. And you will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a lovely day/night! <3


	29. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: a HYDRA soldier briefly touches the reader inappropriately and tries to talk another character in sexually assaulting her. This doesn't happen, but it has the potential to be triggering, so be careful!

You don’t feel anything. It’s like you’re drowning. You can’t hear anything or see anything really. You just know one thing. If you were drowning, it would be to get to the surface. Now, you know that you need to get out of here.

You drag Pierce to the closet. It takes time, he’s heavy and you’re not as strong as you used to be. It hurts your back and your belly, having to stand so hunched over. You manage to get him in the closet eventually, stashing him underneath your dresses. You throw some fabric over him. It’s dark in here and as you throw some other stuff on the floor, you hope that if a soldier comes looking for him, he’ll peek in the closet and move on. You close the door behind you, making your way to the bathroom to get some wet cloths. You get down on your knees in the bedroom, scrubbing the blood from the floor. Nobody will see what happened here, nobody will be able to tell. You have no idea of the amount of time you have, so you just assume it’s little. You work fast and diligently, the sound of silence surrounding you. There’s no more screaming or barking.

You think of Anne. Maybe she’s alive. Maybe she’s dead.

You think of the other maids, whose names you can’t remember, but who’ve been in your life for a few months now. Who made your meals, who washed your clothes, who cleaned your rooms, who were there in the background all the time.

You think of the guards, who protected you, who trained on the fields.

You think of the innocent.

When the blood is gone on the floor, you hide the cloths in the bathroom. It’s still dark outside, the sun hasn’t risen yet. You wash your hands and your face. Nobody has come in yet. You can only assume that everybody expected that Pierce could handle it all on his own. Fools, you think. A small sliver of pride in your chest.

You get out of the bathroom and walk over to the door, pressing your ear against the wood, trying to figure out if there’s somebody on the other side. You don’t hear anything and finally, you gather enough courage to slowly open the door a bit.

It’s dark in the hallway. Far away, you can hear someone walking, but there’s nobody right outside. This is your chance, and you don’t waste a second. You close the door behind you, stepping into the hallway.

The moment they realize Pierce has been gone too long, they’ll go looking. Maybe they won’t find him, but they’ll know something has happened. They’ll go looking for you. Everybody knows your face, so that’ll be easy.

_Think, Y/N, think._

They’ll go looking far away. They won’t go looking for you right outside your bedroom. And they won’t recognize you if all they see is a scared young maid.

Quickly, you tiptoe towards Darcy’s old bedroom. The door is unlocked and you go inside, immediately hit with the scent of her perfume. You only came in here once and it was a mess. It’s neat now, a bit cold. You walk over to the window that looks out into the courtyard. Your breath fogs up the window as you look at the HYDRA soldiers patrolling there.

It seems like just ages ago you wished Steve good luck there.

You go through the closet. There’s a maid uniform in there. You’ve never seen Darcy in one. She always did things her way. She took her other clothing to Asgard, but this she left. It may be what saves you from being murdered.

You undress in the dark. The uniform is a bit tight, but it’ll do. You rummage through the little cabinet that’s there where you find scissors next to some sewing supplies. You sit down in front of the mirror, gathering your hair before you start cutting. It’s not easy, your hair is too thick to cut at once. The locks fall on your lap, covering the maid’s uniform. You try not to think of the bleeding on the rag underneath the skirt. Or what that bleeding means.

Your mother used to cut your hair. She didn’t cut it a lot, but every year she would get you seated in a chair and get her scissors. It was a strange thing to do, surely she could have gotten someone else to do it, but she was good at it and she liked it. She took her time, her fingers caressing your scalp. Her mother had taught her, she told you, and one day she would teach you.

She never did.

Your hair doesn’t look perfect. It’s uneven and you can’t remember the last time your hair was this short. It’s chin length now and you tuck it behind your ears, studying your pale face in the mirror. Somewhere, far away, a battle is being fought. Somewhere, someone’s dying. In your bedroom there’s a closet with a dead man in it. Everything feels surreal. Like you’re stuck in a bad nightmare, running circles, never arriving where you want to arrive. A puppet, dangling from the strings, stuck in a bell jar.

You stand up, letting the hair fall to the floor. You glance at the window once again, at the darkness out there. It’s night and normally you like the nights. It’s the time where Steve is truly yours, where you get to be completely vulnerable. You like the way he smiles when he’s not the King of America, but he’s just your husband. He’ll curl up next to you and sometimes you read to him or he reads to you. Sometimes you read together. Or he’ll listen, as you talk about the past. Your love is ever patient. You remember how you used to stroke his hair as he rested his head on your chest. Nighttime is your time.

Tonight, everything’s different.

Outside, you can hear someone talking and the sound of boots getting closer. You don’t hesitate a moment, dropping to the floor and crawling underneath the bed as you hide. A child, hiding from the monsters.

It’s so dark and you get annoyed at the sound of your own breathing. Your back hurts and your heart does too. You can still feel the stickiness of blood on your hands and smell the salt in the air. Every little sound frightens you and it doesn’t take long before tears stream down your cheeks. From the frustration, the fear, the sadness, the anger. Silently you sob, trying to get all of the emotions out of your body, like you’re getting rid of poison.

Eventually, the tears stop and you roll over on your back, staring at the underside of the bed. God knows you’re tired, and now you’re no longer in immediate danger, your body’s just shutting down. When you drift off, you feel Steve’s hand on your lower back for a moment and his lips pressing against your temple, breathing reassuringly against your skin.

* * *

Jo’s with you. She’s older now, a grown woman, but you can still tell it’s her. She’s walking in front of you, through a field with flowers. Every couple of minutes she looks over your shoulder at her, her blonde hair waving back and forth. She doesn’t say anything, she just leads you where you need to go.

You’re at peace here. There’s no need to ask questions, no need to worry. Your dagger isn’t here, there’s no blood, no pain. Finally, she stops and you want to bury your face in her hair, breathe in her scent because you’re sure she still smells like the little girl she used to be. Your almost daughter. You remember when she sat on your lap during the picknick and the clovers she gave you.

 _Good luck, good luck, good luck_.

“He’s here,” Jo finally speaks. She still sounds like a little child. “He wants to talk to you.”

Who, you want to ask. Who wants to speak with you? Who’s here, in your little heaven? But then you see him.

Your father.

He looks happy and as Jo fades away, you reach out to him. He grabs your hand, proving to you that he’s really here, that you really get another chance. You never got to say goodbye to him. You can’t even remember what the last thing was that you said to him. Probably something mundane, or maybe a thank you for the wonderful ball thrown for your birthday. Not an ‘I love you’ or a ‘I’ll miss you’. You didn’t know, but that doesn’t take away the pain.

He throws an arm around you, pulling you against his chest. You swallow thickly. It feels a little bit too real and it’s terrifying. You didn’t think you would ever get to see him again, hear him chuckle.

“What’s going on, daddy?” you ask, pulling away. You hate the way your voice breaks.

He cups your cheeks, smiling at you warmly. “It sure hasn’t been easy, has it, munchkin?”

You shake your head. No, it hasn’t been easy. It’s been rough and it’s been terrifying and it’s been painful and absolutely amazing at the same time. You’ve almost died and you’ve met your Steve. You’ve loved him and he has loved you and still, you’ve lost the product of that love.

Your father’s face hardens a bit as your lip trembles. “Now, haven’t I taught you better than to wallow in self-pity?”

It strikes a chord with you and suddenly his arms around you feel like chain. Self-pity? Self-pity! You’re allowed to wallow in it all you want! Does he have any idea of what you’ve been through? This is so typically your father, always wanting you to grin and bear it bravely, even when it’s killing you on the inside.

“How dare you,” you whisper.  “You weren’t there!”

“No, I wasn’t there, and in the meantime, your brother has been ruining the kingdom and you’ve left. I was counting on you to keep him straight.”

“I went to America to keep the Stark kingdom safe, _father_. And Tony hasn’t been ruining anything.”

“Did your marriage to King Rogers save us?” your father asks. “Did becoming that man’s little wife keep you safe? If so, why are you hiding underneath a bed in a maids uniform while they’re murdering your staff? Did your American crown keep those monsters from burning the kingdoms to the ground?”

“Why are you talking like this?” you ask.

“Why shouldn’t I talk like this?”

“Because it’s disrespectful and you will show me the respect I deserve,” you demand. “I have done nothing but my best since you died, daddy, and so has Tony. It’s not his fault and it also isn’t mine. It’s nobody’s fault. I don’t understand that if this is our last chance to talk to each other, you’re going to treat me like this. Is there really nothing else you can say to me?”

He doesn’t say anything.

“No I love you? No, well done, Y/N? No, I wish I was there to give you away? Nothing? You can only criticize me when I’ve done the very best I could?”

You push him away and he doesn’t protest. He steps backward, holding up his hands.

“Munchkin… I’m just saying…”

“I don’t care what you were saying!”

“You should really respect your elders,” a deep female voice says, one that you instantly recognize. You turn around, your heart beating faster because you don’t like the fact that she’s here, just like your father.

“Are you dead?” you ask Natasha.

She’s standing in front of you in her typical pose: her hands clasped behind her back, her chin up proudly. She doesn’t cower. As she lets out a chuckle, she flutters her eyelashes. “I thought you yourself declared me unkillable when you were twelve, princess.”

“I’m a Queen now,” you stammer.

“You’ll always be the princess to me. That stupidly stubborn girl. Come on, walk with me,” she says, reaching out towards you. You grab her hand and let her pull you along, already having forgotten that your father was there. As you run with her, the flowers change and so does the sky, from a light blue to burnt orange.

“I still don’t really get what’s happening,” you finally say and you hear her laugh.

“Does it really matter?”

Yes. Yes, it does. But you can’t tell her, not when she’s dancing around in front of you, carefree. It’s been such a long time since you’ve seen her and even longer since you’ve seen her truly happy. You know that you’ll have to return to the real world soon, but for now, it seems so alluring to hug her, to tell her that you’ve missed her.

“You should know that I’m proud of you,” Natasha says, running her hands through her hair.

“Why?”

“You killed that man. You really showed him. I knew you had it in you,” Natasha says, a strange fire burning in her eyes. Her fingers keep running through her hair and you watch her in almost awe as strands of hair start letting go of her scalp and start falling down. In minutes entire clumps of hair are gone, floating around her as she keeps tugging and tugging. You don’t say anything, you just watch and try to understand what this means.

Somewhere, a child laughs, breathless.

“Look at that, princess,” Natasha orders, gazing at your hands. When you hold them up, the blood is back, dripping from your fingers. The blood is thick and a fiery red. It never stops. When you look up, to ask Natasha what this means, she’s gone.

You’re all alone, left with bloody hands and pain in your chest.

The pain only intensifies when you hear that child laugh again, just much closer. You can see two figures running through the field, the taller one chasing the smaller one. Giggles fill your ears and as the two come closer, you can see that the first one is a little girl with hair in braids and a big smile on her face. She stumbles through the flowers as the man behind her catches up with her and picks her up, holding her up in the air until she begs him to stop.

You smile, the sun blinding you as you see Steve with his little peanut. You’re there too, throwing your arms around his waist and burying your face in his back as you giggle too. The child curls up against his chest, clearly tired from all the exertion.

“Do you want to go home, Maria?” the other you asks and the child – Maria – nods.

For a moment, you think Maria notices you. She looks at you for a long moment, her little arms still around her father’s neck. She’s safe in his arms. You want to soak in the image of her, so fragile and beautiful and utterly Steve’s and yours.

The moment is broken when Steve tickles her and she laughs loudly again, trying to get away but failing miserably. The other you notices and knows exactly what to do: tickle him. The three in front of you all laugh and it’s not long until Steve turns around with the purpose to tickle the other you, teamed up with Maria.

You giggle at the sight, trying to ignore the lump in your throat. It’s a bit hard to focus on them, your eyesight is getting blurry and the pain is worsening.

You wish this was real. You wish you had Steve with you and that you had a Maria. You wish that you were safe and that everybody you love is safe.

Before you can say anything, the three in front of you disappear. With them goes your little heaven. The ground disappears underneath your feet, but you don’t fall. Rather, you keep floating in a gentle darkness until you start feeling something harsh underneath your back. When you reach back to try and figure it what it is, you wake up, your hand pressed against the cold floor, your breathing shallow.

_Someone’s in the room with you._

You can see the person’s boots from underneath the bed, standing in front of the window. Whoever it is, he doesn’t seem much in a hurry. He’s just looking at the sky that is getting lighter. It’s almost morning.

The door slams open and you clamp a hand over your mouth to keep silent. Somebody else marches in, grabbing the person in front of the window.

“What in god’s name are you doing, Parker?”

“I was just… just…”

My god, you can tell from his voice that he’s barely a man. His voice is still breaking a little and your heart aches for him, another young person that HYDRA manipulated and broke.

“No, you were lazing around while the rest is working hard! Come on, we have to find them!”

“Maybe Lord Pierce is…”

“No, no speculating. God, I don’t need you for your fucking brain, Parker! We find him and that little bitch, wherever she is,” the other man continues. “Which means, you sweep every room. Closets, beds…”

Before you know it, the older man has crouched down, looking underneath, meeting your terrified eyes. He lets out a curse before reaching out and grabbing your arm, pulling you out from underneath the bed, where he hoists you up.

Parker stares at you and you pray to god that he doesn’t recognize you. You have no idea if he’s a HYDRA soldier who lived here before or if he’s just arrived. His face doesn’t seem familiar. The man who’s holding you against him breathes harshly against your neck.

“Look! She was lying here all this time while you were staring out of that goddamned window!” the man says, shaking you. You try to even your breathing. If you manage to go unrecognized and don’t do anything rash, you might survive. It’s clear that they’re looking for you and Pierce, but if the man who’s holding you recognized you, he would have his hand wrapped around your throat already.

“I’m sorry, sir, I was… It was stupid, sir,” Parker stammers.

“Yes it was,” the man growls into your ear. “If I ever catch you slacking off again, I’ll have your head!”

Parker nods quickly, averting his gaze to the ground.

“Now, what will we do with her?” the man asks.

Parker looks up again, a frown on his face. “Uh… I’ll bring her to the kitchens, sir, I apologize…”

“She can go to the kitchens later. Look at her, Parker, isn’t she a mighty fine dame?”

The hand that was previously on your stomach, creeps up towards your breast, giving the left one a harsh squeeze that makes you whimper. You’re still sensitive, even though you’re no longer pregnant with your little peanut.

The boy in front of you swallows thickly, taking a step back. “Sir.. I… I don’t know…”

“Come on, don’t be shy,” the man says, forcing you to turn your face towards him so he can nip at your jaw.

You force yourself to think of other things, of happier things. Of your mother with her tea parties and your father with his chess games. Of throwing cherries with Tony and gardening with Steve until your hands ache from the hard work and your jaw from the laughter. Of drinking wine with Natasha and gossiping with Darcy and fighting with Wanda and talking to Clint and Bucky and Sam. Not of this horrible man, with his horrible intentions and his horrible touch. Anything to get away from him, to get away from this situation.

“What, are you gay or something?”

“No… I’ve got a… girl… a girl I like,” Parker says, a pained look in his eyes. “I’ll just bring her…”

“You’re a coward, Parker, you know that?” The man gives your breast one final squeeze before giving you a rough push and letting you fall on the bed. You stay where you are, not daring to move or breathe loudly. You just want to disappear.

“Fine, take her,” the man finally orders. Then, with a mocking sweet voice: “When all of this is settled, I’ll come and see you, honey. How does that sound?”

Nobody says anything. You keep your face buried in the blankets of the bed, surrounded by Darcy’s perfume. Finally, somebody leaves, you presume that man. When a warm hand that’s so small compared to the other man’s hand covers one of your shaking hands, you wince.

“I’m so sorry, miss,” Parker whispers. “Really. Look, I have to bring you to the kitchens, if you keep your head down there, miss… I don’t think he’ll really come and see you later.”

You let him help you stand, still shaking. He squeezes your hand, gently. “He’s… my aunt May used to say ‘all bark and no bite’.”

“A lot of men are like that,” you manage to get out.

You want to ask why he’s being kind to you. You want to ask if he really believes in what HYDRA stands for. You want to know what his aunt May thinks of his job and if his girlfriend knows. You want to ask why he’s still talking to you and why he hasn’t manhandled you into going to the kitchens.

“My name’s Peter. Peter Parker, miss,” he says, reaching out his free hand like this is an ordinary meeting, where you’ll tell him that you’re pleased to meet him. The look on your face must have told him that it’s bizarre because he quickly apologizes.

“I think we should leave now,” he finally says and you nod. You really don’t want to leave this room because you know there are many more people out there and all it takes is one sharp observation to get you killed. But you can’t stay here. That man will come back and he’ll take what he wants. You doubt the fact that you’re bleeding would deter him.

Peter helps you as you walk through the corridors of your home. He looks at you a bit worried as you wince when you use the stairs. “Are you all right, miss? Did he break something?”

You shake your head, not wanting to explain anything. The boy lets it go.

There are guards, but not as much as you expected. There is blood on the floor. You try to avoid stepping in it and Peter is cautious as he supports you. When you near the wall with the royal portraits, you look at Steve’s portrait that’s torn. His face, cut up. Sarah Roger’s portrait too and a few others. Your portrait hasn’t been hung there yet, but if it had been up there, it would have been destroyed too.

Peter winces when he sees it. “I liked those portraits,” he whispers.

“Hey!” someone yells. “Who’ve you got there?”

Peter turns around as a pair of soldiers walk over to the two of you.

“Found her upstairs,” he murmurs. “I had to bring her to the kitchens.”

“I’ll take her,” the man says, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from Peter. “Go back and look around for Y/N Rogers. We still haven’t found her.”

“We’ll find her soon enough. There aren’t many places to hide,” the other soldier says.

You keep your eyes on the ground, your heart nearly beating out of your chest. You risk one last glance at Peter, who casts a worried glance at you before leaving. You’re dragged away by the men who want you dead. You don’t struggle as they finally stop in front of the kitchen doors. When they open the doors, you’re thrown inside roughly, in that room that bathes in warmth and is filled with terrified maids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed my writing! Let me know what you think of this chapter in the comments! :)


	30. Chapter 29

What keeps you from hyperventilating are the warm hands of Anne, cupping your face. While you blink, trying to get your eyes used to the light in the kitchen, she’s crouched over you, brushing the hair out of your face.

“It’s all right, lass,” she tells you and you could almost cry from the sound of her voice. “You’re going to be fine, you’re going to be absolutely fine.”

Someone taps her shoulder and hands her something, something that she hands to you. Only when your hands close around it do you realize it is a cup with fresh water. Anne helps you sit up and her hand stays on your back as you drink the water. Your mouth doesn’t feel so dry anymore and it’s a little bit easier to think now.

Anne’s hands are cupping your face once again. “They’re not here. Come on, breathe. You can do it.”

You press your hands against your chest as you try to breathe normally. Your entire body is still shaking and parts of it are numb. You know the feeling from when your parents were murdered. The fear made it impossible for you to feel your legs, made it feel like you were floating. It’s happening once again and that’s terrifying. You thought that by killing Pierce you would heal yourself, piece yourself together.

You look at Anne, who breathes with you. For a few moments, she smiles at you, to encourage you, until you see a flash of recognition in her eyes. Here, in the light, somebody recognizes you, but you trust her. You trust that she won’t go to the guards and tell on you. You trust that she knows to stay silent.

She nods at you, taking a shaky breath. “What happened to your hair… _lass_?”

“It was time for a change,” you whisper.

“They’re looking for the Queen,” she says, to you and the rest of the maids who are huddled together. They look tired. Some of them have scratches on their face or are bleeding. A few are crying. They’ve been beaten, but they’ve survived. They’re resilient. “And Lord Pierce. I overheard that Lord Pierce wanted to kill our Queen, but that they’ve disappeared.”

“Don’t fret over Lord Pierce. He’s gone,” you murmur and she nods. “And so is the Queen.”

Anne helps you up, taking your now empty cup. She helps you to a corner, where it’s a little bit darker. You curl up there, burying your face in your hands. Your stomach still hurts and only now is the realization truly coming in that you could have died so many deaths tonight.

“The way you walk…” Anne whispers. “What happened to you?”

“I…” You don’t know how to say it. You don’t know how to convey the pain, the loss. How can she understand that something was taken from you, something that you can’t ever get back, something – no someone, someone that you still had to meet? “I lost… I lost the baby.”

Anne doesn’t say anything. You can’t tell if she thinks she shouldn’t say anything or that she just doesn’t know what to say. It doesn’t matter. The silence is deafening and you can’t stand it.

“No more ginger tea,” you croak out, trying to crack a joke, and it seems to snap her out of the state she is in.

She gathers you in her arms and holds you against her chest like a mother would comfort a child. She strokes your hair, whispering comforting words into your ear that you can’t really understand because of how you mentally feel. She knows that too. She knows everything.

Maybe she knows from experience, maybe not. You’re not really supposed to talk about it, you know that. It’s something to whisper about, something to keep silent about, something that you have to bear alone. Not something that you really have an open conversation about. Certainly not when one of the women is a Queen and the other is a servant.

“You’ll get through this, I know you will,” Anne whispers and you nod, fighting the tears. “We’ll get through this.”

A young girl that you’ve seen during dinner many times, looks up from her clasped hands in her lap. “Anne?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think we’ll get out of this alive?” she asks softly. A few other women look up, curious as to what Anne will say.

Anne sighs, rubbing your back as she turns to the women. “I have no idea. But I don’t think they’re really here for us. We’re no threat, not really. Chances are they’ll keep us alive to scrub their boots and cook them dinner.”

“Just do as they say,” you say, leaning back against the wall.

“I’ll spit in their food if I have to cook for them,” an older woman with dark hair says. You wince as you see her busted lip and the bruises around her throat. “There’s no way I’m being nice to the people who murdered my son.”

“You don’t know if he’s dead…” another woman offers.

The dark-haired woman shakes her head. “No. He’s dead. I know it. I can feel it in my bones. I could always feel it. Whenever he was sad or upset or hurt… I could feel it. And now…”

“Now?”

“Now, there’s nothing. I’m alone,” the woman says.

The woman next to her takes her hand, squeezing it. “I’m so sorry, Mary.”

“Don’t. It’s not your fault,” Mary says, wiping a stray tear away. “I told him before he went that he didn’t have to go. Sir Wilson had given him permission to stay behind, because he was still training, but… god, Luke is… was… so stubborn. He told me that he had to go, that he wasn’t leaving his friends.”

Everybody is silent. You can tell from the look on Anne’s face and the others that everybody’s thinking the same thing: that if Luke stayed behind, he would have been killed too. But nobody’s going to tell her. Perhaps it’s a comfort for Mary, the thought that if her son had listened, he would be with her now, in her arms. Perhaps it’s not. Maybe everybody’s just too much of a coward or everybody just doesn’t have the strength to speak up after this terrible night.

“We just have to keep hope,” another girl says after a long silence. “The King will come back and save us. He can take on HYDRA, he’s done it before.”

A few women scoff and your stomach clenches at the thought of your Steve, fighting against soldiers. You know he’s a beast on the battlefield, but you know that the chances are tiny that he’s survived the ambush. Your poor husband could be dead right now. Did he think of you before he died? Did he worry for you and the baby?

Anne smiles at you, the encouraging kind. “I’m sure the King will do his best.”

* * *

Time passes. Some women talk, about things that seem pointless now. It must be morning now, but everybody’s tired, and some women actually manage to sleep, curled up into each other’s arms. Anne tends to the fire, making some tea for the women who are still awake. You’re one of them, laying down between two women, staring at the ceiling with them. You listen to their breathing, trying to think of happy things.

When the doors open and someone enters, everybody sits up and the sleeping women are shaken awake. It’s just Peter, who seems a little bit terrified at the sight of a whole room filled with women staring at him with looks in their eyes that range from fear to rage. He just stands there, a little bit lost.

Finally, Anne steps up. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“Oh… uh… Commander Rye asks if you can get started with breakfast for the men,” Peter says, his voice shaky.

Commander Rye. You wonder if that’s the name of the man who wanted to rape you.

“Of course, sir,” Anne responds.

You can tell from the look on Peter’s face that he’s not used to being called sir. Maybe this is the first time someone called him that. He’s so young. He reminds you a bit of the knights training at the Stark palace. They used to look so carefree, swinging around their swords, joking. Children on the cusp of adulthood. Your brother was fond of them and taught them some tricks. He wasn’t a prince when he taught them, but just a young man. Things like that make you confident that he’ll be a great father. Playful, stern but still kind. Nobody could ask for a better father.

Peter lingers as a few woman stand up and join Anne in preparing breakfast. It doesn’t take too long, because the preparations for breakfast have already been done the night before. You remember that you were here last evening, helping Anne. That seems like ages ago. Another life.

You watch with the other women, those who normally don’t prepare breakfast but clean and do the laundry, as the women cook. For a moment, it’s almost normal. There’s not a single trace of distress on their faces. This is something that they know, this is something that they’re familiar with. Right now they’re safe. They can almost imagine that they’re cooking dinner for a palace filled with friends and not enemies.

Occasionally, you look over at Peter, who seemingly has no idea what he’s supposed to do now. After a while, he can sense that someone is looking at him and when you glance over to him again, he stares back. He seems to recognize you, vaguely, as the woman that was hiding underneath the bed and he offers you a shy smile. But realization washes over him as he looks at you longer. What is it that gives you away finally? Your nose, perhaps, or your jawline. Maybe it’s the eyebrows. Or maybe this disguise isn’t as foolproof as you’ve hoped. You were stupid to hope that a maid’s uniform and a new haircut would keep you safe. Everybody in this palace knows your face. The women around you just haven’t said anything to be polite, to leave you in your delusional state where you think you’re invisible. As the world crashes down and burns around you, Peter stays silent. He smiles again and gives you a tiny nod.

The woman next to you grabs your wrist and squeezes. “You’re hyperventilating again, dear.”

You focus on the floor that you’re lying on, studying the stone as you start breathing normally again. A few times you peek at Peter, who’s still looking at you, but you’re vaguely confident that he won’t go out there and tell his commander. If he wanted to, he would have run out immediately. Finding the Queen? That would be a guaranteed promotion and a lot of pats on the back from men that formerly regarded him like dirt on their boots.

You don’t know what’s stopping him. You don’t understand that boy, that boy that holds your life in his hands. You try to find the answers in his eyes, but you fail, there’s nothing to tell you why this stranger is being so kind.

And then his attention shifts away from you. His eyes focus on a girl who’s helping Anne cook, she’s currently slicing a loaf. Now and then she looks up and glares daggers at him. He winces every time she does it. It’s like watching a play, something that your mother loved. She hated drama in her own life but loved to watch drama in other people’s lives. She got pleasure out of living through other people so she could enjoy what was to be enjoyed but escape the pain.

The girl is pretty, a tall girl with light brown skin and a lot of curls that she’s tried to pin out of her face. She’s younger than most, even younger than Darcy. She’s just out of her teens, but she doesn’t seem like a young meek girl who will let anyone run over her. She stands there, proudly. She’s right and she knows it.

When she puts the loaf slices in a basket, Peter takes a few steps towards him, something that earns him another glare.

“MJ…” he tries softly. More people are watching now, a few women with small smiles on their faces. Anne moves closer to MJ, her stance protective, but MJ doesn’t need it.

“You can call me Michelle now,” the girl snaps. “We’re not friends anymore.”

“But… but…” Peter stammers and you can only describe the look on his face as that of a kicked puppy. “I don’t…”

“You think this is normal? Going around and dragging us around to locking us up in here and threaten us? Kill people? I thought you were a good man, Peter, but it’s clear that you’re not,” she says. “To think that I…”

“To think that I wat?” Peter asks. “MJ-”

“Michelle.”

“Michelle, please. I don’t… I’m going to. I want to make this right. I want to be your friend. It’s a mess out there and…”

“Kid,” an older woman says, who’s sitting against one of the cabinets. “Just let it go.”

“Ma’am, I can’t just let it go! I… I’m going to do the right thing. I will. I don’t want to be part of HYDRA anymore, really. M-Michelle, you have to believe me. I joined them when Aunt May got sick and I needed the money and it was the only… and then I came here and I met you…”  
MJ looks up, the look in her eyes a bit softer. “And then?”

“I really wanted to say something, I tried to get to the King and tell him what was going to happen but they were all so busy and nobody wanted to see me…”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“I know,” Peter sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Commander Rye saw me getting closer to them and he said that if I did anything… he would kill you and he’d make sure something awful would happen to Aunt May and I just didn’t know what to do…” His voice breaks and he stares at the floor. “I didn’t want you to be in danger. I really…. I like you, MJ. I mean Michelle. Sorry. I like you, Michelle.”

When MJ doesn’t respond, he looks up. “I was a coward. Still am.”

You look over at Mary, who’s also watching the conversation between Peter and MJ. You can see the trails of tears on her cheeks. You can guess who’s she’s thinking about. Her son. Her stupidly brave son who didn’t want to be a coward and is dead now.

Your heart aches for her and for her son. Your heart aches for Peter. You can tell he’s being genuine. You understand how trapped he must have felt, how terrifying it must have been. He’s a boy who joined an organization he didn’t really understand to help his aunt. Can you blame him for doing what he thought was the right thing at the time?

“What are you going to do now?” MJ asks, her arms crossed over her chest, the look on her face still stern. “What does doing the right thing involve?”

“Uh… yeah… I have to make a plan, of course. I want to help the King and the army. I heard Rye say that they’ll be coming back. Everything’s going wrong… it’s a real mess,” Peter says.

You try to not let your face betray anything when you hear that, but it’s hard. Peter quickly glances over to you and so does Anne. She’s the one to press for further information.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, we’re still looking for Lord Pierce but everybody thinks that he’s dead and the Queen… everybody’s kind of panicking. There’s rumors that the… well… that things aren’t going as smooth in the other palaces either. And a Sokovian soldier just arrived. He said that he managed to escape a bloodbath between the Sokovian army and the rest. The ambush didn’t go as they expected. Rye says that the Kings will go back and kill every HYDRA soldier hiding in their palaces.”

Breath hitches in your throat at the thought that Steve is alive and well. The image of your husband, breaking down the kitchen door, taking you in his arms and pressing kisses on your cheeks as he promises he’ll keep you safe. You can almost smell him, holding you, protecting you from the evil world. All you want to do is cup his cheeks and tell him that you love him, that you love him more than anything.

You try not to think of having to tell him about the miscarriage.

“What will they do?” Anne asks.

“I think Rye is planning on fleeing the moment the army is spotted. He doesn’t want to fight. Not really.”

Some women scoff at that. But you can see the hope on their faces, the realization that they might survive slowly getting through to them. The mood in the kitchen that smells of sweat and tears is elated. Their King and the rest of the army is coming to save them. They won’t have to join HYDRA or be beheaded. Some of them have started praying softly, clutching each other’s hands as they try to appease their gods to let the mission be successful. Their murmuring is comforting. You can almost feel your mother’s presence, joining them in their prayers, trying to nudge you in their good direction. A good Queen would join them. But you’ve never been exactly the Queen people expected you to be.

“I don’t know what to do,” Peter admits.

“There’s not much you can do,” Anne says and MJ nods. “All we can do is wait. And hope.”

The praying women squeeze each other’s hands.

* * *

After Peter leaves with a few maids to bring the food to the HYDRA soldiers, the whole kitchen is abuzz. Everybody’s talking, speculating about what the King will do when he returns.

“He’ll slaughter each and every one of them,” a young girl with straight hair says excitedly. “He’ll be so mad and worried about her Majesty.”

Some women look over to you. They’ve figured it out and you can tell that they believe the same thing. He loves you, you think, he loves you and he’s worried and he’ll kill anyone who wrongly touched a hair on your head. It shouldn’t be an exciting thought, but somehow it is.

When Anne comes back she and the girls prepare food for the maids. She brings you a warm cup of tea first and asks you how you’re doing, tucking a few stray locks behind your ears.

“Just keep holding on,” she tells you. “Hopefully we’ll be out of here by tonight.”

You smile at her. “I’m alright, Anne.”

“You look way too pale,” she says, pressing a hand against your cheek like she’s checking for fever. “Does it still hurt?”

You’ve tried not to think too much about the bleeding. You can feel the physical pain, which is still there, but in the background, but the emotional pain is so much worse. Now and then the image of that Maria girl pops up to torment you.

“I wish we could get a healer to take a look at you,” Anne murmurs. You look around the room. Jonathan, Martha, and Polly are nowhere to be seen. You don’t know why you didn’t realize earlier that the three of them aren’t here.

“Where are they?” you ask her.

“Caroline says that they killed Jonathan because he talked back. I think it’s safe to assume that Martha and Polly are gone too,” she says.

You think of that man with those kind eyes and the two chattering women who were so grateful for the opportunity to become healers. The thought of them, dead, is surreal. They’re not supposed to be dead. They’re supposed to be learning each other stuff and make fun of things and gossip about you. They can’t be gone.

Anne squeezes your shoulder before leaving you. You don’t really know what to do. Something is screaming inside of you, telling you to do anything, but you don’t have the energy. You lie down again, forgetting your cup of tea. The floor underneath your back is comforting. It grounds you, helps you stay in this place and not drift off.

_Just because there’s the possibility that there’s an army coming… it doesn’t mean that Steve is alive. Or Tony. Or Natasha. Or Wanda. Or Clint. Or Bucky. Or Sam. Or Scott Lang._

You sigh, pressing your cheek against the coldness underneath you.

_Pepper could still be dead. And her baby. And Darcy in the Asgardian palace. Jane Foster. The other Queens and their staff._

You close your eyes, not really sleeping, but not really awake either. Slowly but surely you relax, the pain is almost gone, the only sounds that you hear are the whispers of the praying women. It’s almost peaceful.

Almost.


	31. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, my dear readers! <3 I hope you guys enjoy, I quite liked writing from Steve's perspective for once!

When Steve Rogers met his future wife, he couldn’t see her face at first. It had been dark as the carriage containing the Stark princess arrived. He had felt a bit guilty about the welcome she would receive. Surely the princess would expect trumpets and flowers and masses of people craning their heads to catch a glimpse of their future queen. His mother would have been disappointed in him. Oh, his mother. If she had been alive, he knew she would be standing next to him, a gleeful smile on her face, not able to contain the excitement to meet her soon to be daughter in law. But she was gone. Forever.

Bucky had put his hand on Steve’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Stop worrying so much.”

“I’m not worrying.”

“Boy, I can _hear_ your mind going a million miles an hour.”

Steve thought he had heard Wanda let out a huff. And then the carriage door had been opened. Steve could only make out a female figure, being helped out by a guard. He had no idea what she would look like. He had only seen her once, at a funeral, and she had been young then. And that memory was fuzzy. He had remembered her fire, not the details of her face.

“I present to you, the daughter of Howard Stark, her Highness Y/N Stark from the Kingdom of Stark,” the guard had said as Steve’s future wife lingered in the shadows. He had wondered if she was able to see him.

“That’s a lot of Stark,” Bucky had murmured next to him and Steve had never wanted to punch his friend more. As the woman dropped into a deep curtsy in front of him, he had worried that maybe she thought that he was the one who made the comment.

Coulson was the one who had lightly pushed him forward.

Y/N Stark was still curtsying, her eyes to the ground, submissive. He had never seen anyone drop into such a low curtsy. The women he was close to, weren’t the curtsying kind. The other women in court just bowed their heads.

He had marveled at the feel of her hands in his as he had helped her up.

“I’m Steve Rogers,” he had said. “Welcome to America.”

And that’s when he had first seen her face. The face that would be on his mind for the next months, the face hiding behind the veil as she had walked down the aisle, the face that belonged to his _wife_.

That face had looked up to him so softly before he left. He can still remember how soft her fingers had felt as she had cupped his cheek. _Good luck, Steve_. It had physically hurt him to leave her. Every cell in his body had been trying to rebel. He didn’t want to leave his pregnant wife, who was still a little bit fragile, behind.

God, he fucking hates HYDRA.

And now, he’s faced with the reality that that moment might be the last time he spoke to his wife. At least, that’s the reality that Pietro Maximoff is trying to make him come to terms with.

Yeah, Pietro Maximoff. _Dead_ Pietro Maximoff.

Steve had almost been asleep in his tent, the one he shared with Bucky. His friend had been snoring already, murmuring something about Sam. Steve had smiled in the semi-darkness at that. Were he to mention it the next morning, Bucky would surely come up with some story about how Sam had been annoying him in his dream, but Steve knew better. He was a lot of things, but he wasn’t dumb. He knew there was something going on between Sam and Bucky. He was just waiting for one of the two idiots to finally gather up the courage to tell him.

When the flap of the tent had opened, his hand had immediately grabbed his sword. Bucky had turned in his sleep, grunting in the pillow.

Holding up the almost gone candle, Steve had stood face to face with the man whose death he had personally witnessed.

“Pietro?”

Pietro had hushed him, convincing him to put the sword down as Bucky waked up.

“Listen, I haven’t got much time, alright? So you two, shut up. I know this is confusing and you probably have a thousand questions but that’s all for later. I’ll try to explain everything as quickly as I can.”

“We watched you die,” Bucky had stammered.

“What the fuck did I just tell you, bastard?”

Steve had chuckled at that. He never thought he would hear the peculiar voice of his friend again, but here he was, looking incredibly fresh for a person who died years ago. Steve remembers that day like it happened yesterday. It was the beginning of the HYDRA uprising. They had underestimated those bastards, thinking that they would just cut its head off. Little had they known that they were dealing with a dragon. And when you cut a dragon’s head off, you get three new ones to fight with.

Wanda and Pietro had fought next to him. Wanda, still young and relatively innocent, and Pietro, all charm and jokes. Pietro hadn’t been worried about it at all, poking fun at his twin sister for complaining that she had a bad feeling about this one. Even when the whole thing went south, Pietro couldn’t stop being optimistic. He had fought like a lion, ignoring every warning from Wanda.

Then, he had been killed by a stab in the chest. There had been so much blood. Steve had immediately killed the attacker. The scream that Wanda had let out was heard everywhere. It slivered down the soldiers' spines as Wanda launched herself at the body of her twin brother. But her scream only caused more of the HYDRA soldiers to come at them and when they had finally won, Pietro’s body was gone. Even when the night fell, Wanda kept searching the battlefield, looking through all the dead bodies for her Pietro.

Steve had gone over to her, pulling her into a hug as she wailed.

“They… oh… oh… they took him from me, Steve… Steve… I can’t leave him, I can’t, I can’t, please, I have to bury him…  oh god… let me bury him,” she had begged him as if he knew where Pietro’s body was. Finally, he and Sam had managed to carry her away.

Back home she had spent three days in bed, refusing to talk to anyone, until she emerged on the fourth day, acting as if nothing had happened.

Pietro had explained all of it in the tent, that he had been injured severely, but that before he could die a man had appeared above him. He had been dragged away from the battlefield. He was taken away, patched up.

“The perfect new soldier,” Pietro whispered.

They had messed with his head, so bad that he had forgotten who he was for a long time. He had regained his memories over the past few months. HYDRA had trained him, taking advantage of his incredible fastness. He had fought for them, Pietro had explained. He had killed for them.

He hated himself.

He had wanted to give up, to just kill himself, believing Wanda and the rest to be dead, but then he had been sent on a new mission. This a big one, the commander had explained. This is how we will take over everything. This is how we win.

“This is their plan. They’ve got groups of soldiers, good soldiers, in every palace. Every palace that is now relatively empty, because the kings and the soldiers are out heading for a HYDRA base. A base that’s bloody empty. Those groups of soldiers will take over the palaces, killing everybody, as the soldiers here do their jobs.’

“What do you mean?”

“Sokovia is a HYDRA ally. There are hundreds of HYDRA soldiers here, waiting for it to become pitch black and to kill everybody. It’s a fucking ambush, Steve. They’re waiting outside to slit your throat while they’ve got your palace. You came out here to get murdered. When we arrived, when I saw my sister, when I saw you… god, I’ve been waiting all day to try and contact you guys. It wasn’t easy, I had to kill one guy on my way over here, but…”

“I know,” Bucky murmurs, grasping the hand of the other man. “I know. You’re here now. And we’re damned happy to have you back.”

Pietro laughs. “I’m damned happy to _be_ back! I’ve been through hell, man. Can’t believe… can’t... can’t believe it.”

For a moment he stares at the flickering candle, before burying his face into his hands and weeping.

Y/N, Steve thinks. Y/N and the little peanut. He left them at home, believing them to be safe with Coulson and Pierce. He didn’t think they would be in danger, not really. He looks up at Bucky, who’s clearly thinking the same.

“She knows how to defend herself,” Bucky whispers as he pats Pietro’s back.

“She’s no match against a trained HYDRA soldier and you know it.”

Pietro looks up, tears staining his rugged cheeks. “Who’re we talking about?”

“Steve’s wife, Y/N,” Bucky explains. “Yeah, our bachelor got married while you were… dead. She’s Tony Stark’s sister. A nice gal, and a _pregnant_ gal.”

“I’m sorry, Steve.”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers. “Yeah.”

“What do we do now?” Bucky asks. “We’ve got to warn the rest, but there are definitely people watching us. If we start sneaking around now, they’ll know we’re on to them.”

“Then we don’t sneak around,” Steve says. “I’ll send messengers to the kings, including the king of Sokovia, to come to my tent. An emergency meeting, because I… let’s say I had a dream predicting something horrible. I make sure that the king of Sokovia receives the message as last, so I’ve got time to tell the other kings that we’re being ambushed. Make a lot of noise, let the men wake up. Catching a soldier surprised is a hell of a lot harder when he’s awake. We let the Sokovian king know that we know when he arrives and we fight. We fight until the end and then we go back to the castles to take back what is ours.”

Not that it will matter much, Steve thinks bitterly. His love will be dead. His beautiful, amazing, resourceful, funny, clever, brilliant wife is already gone. The chance that she survived… No. There’s no way she managed to survive. Yes, she can defend herself, but he knows HYDRA soldiers. They’ll have caught her in surprise. He can only hope that it was a swift and relatively painless death.

He’ll return home to a castle reeking of blood and the only thing he’ll be able to do is bury her.

* * *

“I’ll smash his head in!”

Tony Stark is angry. Positively fuming. His right-hand man, a chap named Rhodey, stands next to him, trying to calm him down. “That… that…”

“I agree with you, Stark,” Thor booms. “I would be glad to squeeze the life out of that pitiful man.”

“That fool is not the one we should be concerned about,” Thor’s wife, Brunnhilde, argues. “It’s the HYDRA soldiers outside that we should be worried about.”

“I’ll kill them all.”

“Buffoon!”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Steve interrupts. “We haven’t got much time. I need you all to fight as if your life depends on it, because it does. We have no strategy, we have no cunning tricks to get us out this one. We’ll just have to fight our way through it.”

He glances over to his brother-in-law. He knows Tony dislikes him, even though he doesn’t really know why. They’ve talked once or twice. Maybe it’s just because Steve’s married to his sister. Maybe that automatically means that he’s disliked. He’s got no idea and that all doesn’t matter to him, as long as Tony’s got his back.

Tony looks back at him, a bit calmed down now. He nods. “People, listen to what the old man says.”

“Old man? I’m your age!” Steve protests.

“I’m just saying that you’ve got that old man walk, Rogers. I don’t mean anything by it. You remind me of my grandpa, that’s all.”

Pietro laughs in the corner of the tent, stopping the moment Steve glares at him. He’s not really mad at Pietro. It’s good to hear him laugh after the horrors he’s been through.

“But, with that old man gait comes a lot of wisdom, and that wisdom right now is that we just have to fight. Alright, let’s do that. We’ve got homes to return to… and I personally would love to smash some HYDRA soldiers in the face. Starting with the Sokovian king of course,” Tony continues.

Steve doesn’t miss the pause at the mention of home. He knows Tony’s got a wife home who’s even more progressed in her pregnancy than Y/N… was. He knows everybody in this room has people they care about at home, people that are most likely dead.

They can’t stop and think about that for too long. They’re soldiers now. And soldiers fight.

* * *

The first person to die who he knows well is Sharon.

Sharon Carter, Peggy’s cousin. They were quite inseparable. Sharon joined the army after Peggy had been there a half year. Against the wishes of her parents of course, but Sharon hadn’t cared about that. The woman had thrown away a life filled with wealth to fight with her cousin, one of the only woman in a army of a country she had no real loyalty towards.

Steve had talked to her often. He was aware that she had had a crush on him, something that Peggy had teased him about. He had liked Sharon, because she was funny and brave and just as honest as Peg, but not in the way she liked him. They had kissed, a few months after Peggy died. It had been a terrible mistake. He knew that the moment their lips had touched. It felt all wrong. He hadn’t been the only one to feel that, because she had pushed him away a few seconds later, pressing her fingers to her lips as if she had been stung.

“I’m so sorry,” she had whispered, before starting to cry about Peggy. They had sat up all evening, drinking expensive wine, something his father had been furious about. Sharon had told him all her memories about Peggy, had confided in him about how lonely she was now, how scared she was.

He saw her as a younger sister now, someone to look after, even when she proved over and over that she could handle herself. She had grown fully into her body now, a stunner of a woman with enough confidence to make every man who was interested take a few steps back and rethink their opening line. They hadn’t talked since Y/N had come to the castle, and he knew that it was a deliberate move from her side. Maybe she still felt embarrassed about that grief kiss and the arrival of Y/N had brought all of that up, or maybe she thought that he didn’t want to talk to her now that he had a wife. Maybe she thought she was being courteous to Y/N by avoiding him. He had no idea. He just knew that before they had left for the HYDRA base, he had told himself that when they came back, he had to approach her and ask her how she was doing. Steve Rogers always prided himself on being a good friend.

She had fought next to him, as the whole tent camp was filled with fighting men, flames burning. He had only noticed until it was too late that it was her next to him, her blonde hair tucked back. Spear through the neck. It didn’t kill her immediately, but Steve knew she wouldn’t survive. She knew that too.

He grasps her hand, thinking of what to say to a dying woman. She saved his life. That spear had been coming for him. She was fast enough to push him away, but not fast enough to save herself. He can’t find the words, to express to her how much he appreciates her, but somehow she knows.

“It’s no big deal,” she slurs before breathing her final breath. “You would have done the same for me, Stevie.”

He wants to get her body somewhere safe. He knows that if he leaves here, she’ll be trampled. His loyal Sharon. He knows it’s stupid, he can’t get sentimental now, but the thought of her bones being crushed as soldiers run over her make him want to throw up. In the end, he doesn’t get a choice. He has to fight for his life, leaving Sharon behind, her glassy eyes looking up at the starry night, the spear still in her neck, blood staining the grass underneath her.

War is hell.

It’s chaos. Steve looks around, trying to find familiar faces. He doesn’t know who’s the enemy and who isn’t, so he just fights back whenever someone attacks him. It’s so hot and everywhere people are dying. It’s starting to smell. For a moment, he believes he sees her. His Y/N, standing in the middle of the battlefield, in that angelic nightgown, her hair all ready for bed, her face glowing. She’s gone the next moment and it hurts. It hurts like there are shards in his chest, like he’s dying already.

“Come on, old man!” Tony yells in his ear. “Don’t give up already!”

They fight, back to back. Steve can smell the smaller man’s sweat and can practically feel the fury radiating from him. He knows Tony’s got a personal vendetta against HYDRA. Just like Y/N.

Y/N.

He had given her note to Tony when they had arrived at the meeting point. Tony had read it, shock on his face. When he had looked up, Steve could clearly tell that for a moment Tony had forgotten that he was here. He had been expecting his baby sister. He had wanted to hug her, tell her that he was proud of her. Instead, he got his baby sister’s wife. Tony had patted him on the shoulder a bit awkwardly. “Well done…”

Tony fights like a beast, just like Steve. He’s not even paying attention to who’s fighting with him. All he can think of is winning, as quickly as possible, and then racing home. Sweat streams down his face, taking the splatters of blood with it. Occasionally, he sees Bucky and Sam, always together. Wanda and Pietro, together once again, something that seemed impossible before today. They look different. Both are much more mature now, longer, skinnier, angrier. Both of them a little bit broken, a little sturdier than when Steve first met them. He supposes all of them are. He’s no longer the young prince with an idealistic view of the world, still a little bit unsure about his position. His friends, his inner circle, they’re no longer the carefree young adults he got to know. Everything has changed, but with that change, good things have come too.

Like his wife and their little peanut.

* * *

When it’s finally over, blood is everywhere. Bodies rot on the grass that’s covered with dew and guts as the sun rises. Steve’s ears are ringing from the yelling of others, and his throat hurts from his own yelling. Clint is kneeling next to someone in front of him, checking the person’s pulse. When Steve sits down next to him, trying to even his breathing as the others around him slowly realize that it’s over, Clint turns to him.

“Goddamn,” he whispers. “Jesus Christ…”

“Don’t let your children hear,” Steve whispers back. The comment just pops up in his head and it’s out of his mouth before he realizes it.

Clint chuckles until he can’t stop and then he’s laughing. It’s bizarre. They’re surrounded by death and they’re laughing about something that isn’t really that funny. But it’s nice, laughing. Steve can immediately feel the muscles in his body relaxing, the tension draining out of his body. They’ve survived.

“I thought I was going to die,” Clint says.

“I know,” Steve responds. “You’re alive, man. You’re alive.”

Not everybody makes it out alive. If he has to make an estimation, a quarter of his army is dead. Tony Stark came with a relatively small army and Steve knows that nearly half of the army is gone. Their kingdom has taken a massive hit and Steve has already decided that when all of this is over, he’ll talk to Tony about how he can help. Tony Stark might be a goddamned proud man who harbors a dislike towards Steve Rogers, but he isn’t dumb either. He’ll have to realize that he needs some assistance.

Thor’s army has come out the most unscathed and the mood of the surviving warriors is positive. It isn’t the first time that Steve marvels at the way they don’t mourn their dead. No, the dead go to their Valhalla.

Sam and Bucky are alive, although Bucky is injured. His arm has taken a hit, but Sam, who fusses over him, tells Steve that he’ll live. Scott Lang is injured too, but the man still manages to crack jokes, so Steve isn’t all too worried about him. Among the dead, Steve recognizes a few men that he trained with. Apart from Sharon, not too many whom he was close with have died. It’s different for Wanda. Unlike Steve, Wanda knows every soldier by name. Fury blazes in her eyes as she walks around, holding hands of the men who are dying, promising them that they’ve done well. Pietro lingers. It’s obvious he feels too much like an outsider to actually do something, but there’s no way in hell that he’ll leave his sister after being reunited with her again.

An impromptu meeting between the Kings is called. There’s no tent and there is no table to gather around. They just stand in a circle, as far away from the others as possible. Everybody’s exhausted, but also clear about what has to happen.

“We’ll have to split up,” Tony says. “We can’t go from one castle to the other… I get that that would be the best strategically speaking…”

Thor nods. “If that Maximoff is speaking the truth, there aren’t a lot of soldiers waiting back in our palaces. We should be able to handle it.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Tony asks, turning to Steve. “Listen, the moment everything’s under control, send me a message. Let me know if Y/N is okay.”

“I will.”

“Thor, the same for you. Although, you don’t have to let me know if my sister is okay.”

Thor laughs at that.

They shake each other’s hands, blood still staining their skin, wishing each other the best. The only thing that Steve can think of is his wife, and getting back to the palace as soon as possible. The journey back will take a few hours. And then he’ll know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for your patience... I know I took my time! I've just been so sick and it was all a mess. I wrote half of this chapter when I thought I was getting better and then I got so sick I couldn't eat for a few days... I'm feeling better now and fingers crossed that I don't get sick again... ugh.  
> Anyway, we'll have one 'normal' chapter and then an epilogue. I can't believe it's almost the end! I just want to thank you guys for your support and your love, I wasn't expecting this at all when I started writing A Duty To Fulfill. I really appreciate it! :D  
> Have a wonderful day/evening/etc lovelies, I'll be off to watch my Call the Midwife Christmas special! Let me know what you think of this chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a kudo and/or let me know what you thought of this chapter!  
> If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter you can subscribe to this story. :)


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